m'^^mp- 


fsy 


DUKE 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 

Treasure  "^om 


GIFT  OF 

J.   P.    Waggoner 


^ 


Tiiii: 


^j^in 


G-fiJLASS 


FOX    THE 


MIND, 

OR 

THE  JUVENILE  FRIEND, 

BEING   A   VALUABLE    COLLECTION   OF 

Interesting  and  Miscellaneous  Incidents, 

Calculated  to  exhibit  to  Young  Minds  the  hafi/nj  effects 
of  Youthful  In?ioce?ice,  and  Filial  Affection  ; 

IN  PROSE  AND  TERSE: 

DESIGNED  TO  IMPROVE  AND  AMUSE  THE 
RISIJVG  GENERATIOjY, 


i^rubellishedivrith  an  ejegant  Frontiajjiece,  and  scvohIn 
^        A    *  /  three  Cuts.      ^      *^m      - 

^^^^  — ;~»r* '■'^Sk  ,^    • 

PHILADELPIIfA  :    .        ''^^-^ 

'■■'  ^v  J.  BiorcTi^  NO.  88,  Chesnui-stree 


-s^^ 


-iz^'l>4^v- 


"iHiL, 


c-r-  r-  '•- 


<^K..ASS. 


she 


2  THE  LOOKING-CLASS. 

home  to  her  house,  in  order  to  remove  him  from 
the  scene  of  his  affliction  nn^  "^  r>r  -ror.-  hic  crrjef 
addin^  *■" 


THE    LOOKING-GLASS.  5 

I  will  go  and  see  him,  and  wish  him  jov.'*     She 

■^  ^rom  It;  but  when 
'  ■   5:he 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.     ., 

V 


since  I  cannot  now  disturb  him,  or  make  him  ufl- 
happy  on  rn^r -ynr--  "^  "^  ^     Ut 


^  THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  7 

you  do  any  thing  to  offend  them  -,  and  should  you 
offend  them  undesignedly,  rest  neither  night  nor 
day  till  you  have  obtained  their  forgiveness.  Re- 
flect on,  and  enjoy  the  happiness,  that  you  are 
not,  like  poor  little  Adolphus,  bereft  of  your  fa- 
thers and  mothers,  and  left  in  the  hands,  though 
of  a  gooc!,  yet  poor  aunt. 

But  lo !  to  give  the  unhappy  mourners  ease. 
From  pale  affliction's  eye  to  wipe  the  tear ; 

To  bid  the  plaintive  voice  of  sorrow  cease, 
Behold  religion's  heavenly  form  appear. 

«' Attend,  she  cries,  poor  mortal !  grieve  no  more 
«  No  more  lament  thy  dear  departed  friends, 

*'  Their  souls  are  wafted  to  a  happier  shore, 
"  Where  every  sorrgw,  every  trouble  ends. 

«'  Follow  my  steps,  and  soon  you'll  meet  again, 
'« Will  meet  in  yonder  blissful  realms  above  ; 

«  Forever  there  to  join  the  seraph's  strains. 
And  sing  the  wonders  of  redeeming  love." 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


4 


anabella's  journey  to  market. 


NOTHING  can  be  more  natural  and  pleasing 
than  to  see  young  children  fond  of  their  parents. 
The  birds  of  the  air,  and  even  the  wild  inhabi- 
tants of  the  forest,  love  and  are  beloved  by  their 
young  progeny. 

Little  Anabella  was  six^  years  old,  very  fond 
of  her  mamma,  and  deliglUf  d  ii^  following  her 
every  where.  Her  mother  being  one  da\  oblig- 
ed to  go  to  market,  wished  to  leave  her  little 
daughter    at   home,    thinking   it    would   be   too 


i 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  9 


roublesome  to  herself ;  but  the  child  s  entrea- 
ties to  go,  were  so  earnest  and  pressing,  that  her 
mother  could  not  withstand  them,  and  at  last  con- 
sented to  her  request. 

The  cloak  and  bonnet  was  soon  on,  and  the  lit- 
tle miss  set  off  with  her  mamma  in  high  spirits. 
Such  was  the  badness  of  the  paths  in  some  places, 
that  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  walk  hand  in 
hand,  so  that  Anabella  was  sometines  obliged  to 
trudge  on  by  herself  behind  her  mamma;  but  these 
were  such  kind  of  hardships  as  her  little  spirit  was 
above  complaining  of. 

The  town  now  appeared  in  sight,  and  the  near- 
er they  approached  it,  the  more  the  paths  were 
thronged  with  people.  Anabella  was  often  separa- 
ted from  her  mamma  ;  but  this  did  not  at  present 
much  disturb  her,  as  by  skipping  over  a  rut,  or 
stepping  between  people  as  they  passed,  she  soon 
got  up  again  to  her  mother.  However,  the  nearer 
they  approached  the  market,  the  crowd  of  course 
increased,  which  kept  her  eyes  in  full  employment 
to  spy  which  way  her  mother  went ;  but  a  little 
chaise  drawn  by  six  dogs  having  attracted  her  at- 
tention, she  stopped  to  look  at  them,  and  by  that 
means  lost  sight  of  her  mother,  which  soon  became 
the  cause  of  much  uneasiness  to  her. 

Here  my  little  readers,  let  me  pause  for  a  mo- 
B 


10  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

ment  to  give  you  this  necessary  advice.  When 
you  walk  abroad  with  your  parents  or  servants  nev- 
er look  much  about  you,  unless  you  have  hold  of 
some  part  of  their  apparel.  And  I  hope  it  will  not 
be  deemed  impertinent  to  give  similar  advice  to  pa- 
rents and  servants,  to  take  care  that  children  do  not 
wander  from  them,  since,  from  such  neglect,  many 
fatal  accidents  have  frequently  happened.  But  to 
proceed. — 

Little  Anabella  had  not  gazed  on  this  object  of 
novelty  for  more  than  a  minute,  before  she  recol- 
lected her  mamma,  and  turned  about  to  look  for 
her;  but  no  mamma  was  there,  and  now  the  afflict- 
ions of  her  heart  began.  She  called  aloud,  "  Mam- 
ma, mamma;"  but  no  mamma  answered.  She  then 
crawled  up  a  bank,  which  afforded  a  view  all  around; 
but  no  mamma  was  to  be  seen.  She  now  burst  in- 
to a  flood  of  tears,  and  sat  herself  down  at  the  foot  of 
the  bank,  by  which  people  were  passing  in  great 
numbers. 

Almost  every  body  that  passed  said  something  or 
other  to  her,  but  none  offered  to  help  her  to  find 
her  mother.  **  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my 
little  dear,  said  one,  that  you  cry  so  sadly  ?  «  I 
have  lost  my  mamma!"  said  Anabella,as  well  as  the 
grief  of  her  heart  would  permit  her  to  speak.  Ano- 
ther told  her  never  to  mind  it,  she  would  find  her 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  19 

book  also  and  ordering  him  to  read  what  he  had 
written  soon  convinced  him  how  contradictory  his 
wishes  had  been.  In  the  winter,  he  wished  it  to 
be  always  winter  ;  in  the  spring  he  wished  for  a 
continuance  of  that  season  *,  in  the  summer  he  wish- 
ed it  never  to  depart ;  and  when  autumn  came,  it 
afforded  him  too  many  delicious  fruits  to  permit 
him  to  have  a  single  wish  for  the  approach  of 
winter. 

«  My  dear  Tommy,  said  his  father  to  him,  I  am 
not  displeased  with  you  for  enjoying  the  present 
moment,  and  thinking  it  the  best  that  can  happen 
to  you  ;  but  you  see  how  necessary  it  is,  that  our 
wishes  should  not  always  be  complied  with.  God 
knows  how  to  govern  this  world  much  better  than 
any  human  being  can  pretend  to.  Had  you  last 
winter  been  indulged  in  your  wish,  we  should  have 
had  neither  spring,  summer,  nor  autumn  ;  the  earth 
would  have  been  perpetually  covered  with  snow. 
The  beasts  of  the  field,  and  the  fowls  of  the  air, 
would  either  have  been  starved  or  frozen  to  death  j 
and  even  the  pleasures  of  sliding,  or  making  im- 
ages of  snow,  would  soon  have  become  tiresome  to 
you.  It  is  a  happiness  that  we  have  it  not  in  our  pow- 
er to  regulate  the  course  of  nature  :  the  wise  and 
unerring  designs  of  Providence,  in  favour  of  man- 


20  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

kind,  would  then  most  probably  be  perverted  to 
their  inevitable  ruin." 


-Behold  fond  man  ! 


See  here  thy  j;?;  >:ur'd  life  :  Pass  some  few  years  ; 
Thy  flow' ring  spring,  thy  summers  ardent  strength, 
Thy  sober  autumn  fading  into  age. 
And  pale  concluding  winter  comes  at  last 
And  shuts  the  scene — Ah  !  whither  now  are  fled, 
Those  dreams  of  greatness  ?  those  unsolid  hopes 
Of  hnppiness  ?  those  longings  after  fame  ? 
Those  restless  cares  ?  those  busy  bust'ling  days  ? 
Those  gay  spent  festive  nights  ?  those  varying 

thoughts 
Lost  between  good  and  ill>  that  shar'd  thy  life  ? 
All  now  are  fled  !  Religion  sole  remains 
Immortal,  never  failing  friend  of  man, 
His  guide  to  happiness  on  high. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS, 


21 


LOUISA  S    TENDERNESS    TO    THE    LITTLE    BIRDS 
IN   WINT    R. 


HOWEVER  long  the  winter  may  appear,  the 
spring  will  naturally  succeed  it.  A  gentle  breeze 
began  to  warm  the  air,  the  snow  gradually  vanish- 
ed the  fields  put  on  their  enamelled  livery,  the 
flowers  shot  forth  their  buds,  and  the  birds  began 
*o  send  forth  their  harmony  from  every  bough. 
C 


22  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

Little  Louisa  and  her  father  left  the  city,  to 
partake  of  the  pleasures  of  the  country.  Scarce- 
ly had  the  black-bird  and  the  thrush  began  their 
early  whistle,  to  welcome  Louisa,  than  the  wea- 
ther changed  all  on  a  sudden ;  the  north  wind  roar- 
ed horribly  In  the  grove,  and  the  snow  fell  in 
such  abundance,  that  every  thing  appeared  In  a 
silver  white  mantle. 

Though  the  little  maid  went  to  bed  shivering 
with  cold,  and  much  disappointed  In  her  expecta- 
tions, yet  she  thanked  God,  for  having  given  her 
so  comfortable  a  shelter  from  the  inclemency  of 
the  elements. 

Such  a  quantity  of  snow  had  fallen  during  the 
night,  that  the  roads  were  almost  impassable  in  the 
morning,  which  was  a  matter  of  great  affliction  to 
poor  Louisa  ;  but  she  observed,  that  the  birds 
were  as  dull  as  herself  upon  the  occasion.  Eve- 
ry tree  and  hedge  being  so  covered  with  snow, 
the  poor  birds  could  get  nothing  to  eat,  not  so 
much  as  a  grain  of  corn  or  worm  was  to  be  found. 

The  feathered  Inhabitants  now  forsook  the 
woods  arid  groves,  and  fled  Into  the  neighbour- 
hood of  inhabited  towns  and  villages,  to  seek  that 
relief  from  man,  which  nature  alone  would  not 
then  afford  them.  Incredibly  numerous  were  the 
flight  of  sparrows,  robins,  and  other  birds,  that 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  23 

were  seen  in  the  streets  and  court-yards,  where 
their  little  beaks  and  claws  were  employed  in 
turning  over  whatever  they  thought  could  afford 
them  a  single  grain. 

A  large  company  of  these  feathered  refugees, 
alighted  in  the  yard  belonging  to  the  house,  in 
which  little  Louisa  and  her  father  then  were. 
The  distress  of  the  poor  birds  seemed  to  afHict 
the  tender  hearted  maid  very  much,  which  her  fa- 
ther perceived  as  soon  as  she  entered  his  chamber. 
"  What  is  it  makes  you  look  so  pensive  now,  said 
her  father,  since  it  is  but  a  few  minutes  ago  when 
you  was  so  remarkably  cheerful  ?" — O  my  dear 
papa,  said  Louisa,  all  those  sweet  dear  birds,  that 
sung  so  charmingly  but  a  day  or  two  ago,  are  now 
come  into  the  yard  starving  with  hunger.  Do, 
pray,  let  me  give  them  a  little  corn!" 

Her  papa  very  readily  granted  her  so  reasonable 
a  request,  and  away  she  ran,  accompanied  by  her 
governess,  to  the  barn  on  the  other  side  of  the 
yard,  which  had  that  morning  been  cleanly  swept. 
Here  she  got  a  handful  or  two  of  corn,  which 
she  immediately  scattered  in  different  parts  of  the 
yard.  The  poor  little  birds  fluttered  around  her 
and  soon  picked  up  what  the  bounty  of  her  gene- 
rous hand  had  bestowed  on  them. 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  pleasure  and  sa» 


24  THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 

tisfaction,  expressed  in  the  countenance  of  Loui- 
sa, on  seeing  herself  the  cause  of  givine  so  much 
joy  to  those  little  animals.  As  soon  as  the  birds 
had  picked  up  all  the  grains,  they  flew  to  the 
house  top,  and  seemed  to  look  down  on  Louisa 
as  if  they  would  say,  «  Can  not  you  give  us  a  lit- 
tle more  ?"  She  undersood  their  meaning,  and 
away  she  flew  again  to  the  barn,  and  down  they 
all  came  to  partake  of  her  new  bounty,  while 
Louisa  called  to  her  papa  and  mamma  to  come 
and  enjoy  with  her  the  pleasing  sight. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  little  boy  came  into  the 
yard,  whose  heart  was  not  of  SO  tender  a  nature 
as  Louisa's.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  cage  full  of 
birds,  but  carried  it  so  carelessly,  that  it  was  evi- 
dent he  cared  very  little  for  his  poor  prisoners. 
Louisa,  who  could  not  bear  to  see  the  pretty  lit- 
tle creatures  used  so  roughly,  asked  the  boy  what 
he  was  going  to  do  with  those  birds.  The  boy 
replied  that  he  would  sell  them  if  he  could,  but 
if  he  could  not,  his  cat  should  have  a  dainty  meal 
of  them,  and  they  would  not  be  the  first  she  had 
munched  alive. 

"  O  fie,  said  Louisa,  give  them  to  your  cat ! 
What,  suffer  such  innocent  things  as  those  to  be 
killed  by  the  merciless  talons  of  a  cat  .'^" — "Even 
so,"  said  the  boy,  and  giving  the  cage  a  careless 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  2o 

swing,  that  tumbled  the  poor  birds  over  one  ano- 
ther, off  he  was  setting  whenLouisa  called  him  back, 
and  asked  him  what  he  would  have  tor  his  birds.  "I 
will  sell  them,  (said  he)  three  for  a  penny,  and 
there  are  eighteen  of  them."  Louisa  struck  the 
bargain,  and  ran  to  beg  the  money  of  her  papa, 
who  not  only  cheerfully  gave  her  the  money,  but 
allowed  her  an  empty  room  for  the  reception  of 
her  little  captives. 

The  boy,  having  thus  found  so  good  a  market 
for  his  birds,  told  all  his  companions  of  it  ;  so  that 
in  a  few  hours,  Louisa's  yard  was  so  filled  with  lit- 
tle bird  merchants  that  you  would  have  supposed 
it  to  be  a  bird  market.  However  the  pretty  maid- 
en purchased  all  they  brought,  and  had  them  turn- 
ed into  the  same  room  with  those  of  her  former 
purchase. 

When  night  came,  Louisa  went  to  bed  with 
more  pleasure  than  she  had  felt  for  a  long  time.. 
"  What  a  pleasing  reflection  it  is  (said  she  to 
herself)  to  be  thus  capable  of  preserving  the  lives 
of  so  many  innocent  birds,  and  save  them  from 
famine  and  merciless  cats  !  When  summer  comes,> 
and  I  go  into  the  woods  and  groves,  these  pretty 
birds  will  fly  round  me,  and  sing  their  sweetest 
notes,  in  gratitude  for  my  kind  attention  to  them,"^ 

These  thoughts  at  last  lulled  her  to  sleep,  but 
C2 


26  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

•they  accompanied  her  even  in  her  dreams  ;  for 
she  fancied  herself  in  one  of  the  most  delightful 
groves  she  had  ever  seen,  where  all  the  little  birds 
were  busied,  either  in  feeding  their  young,  or  in 
singing,  and  in  hopping  from  bough  to   bough. 

The  first  thing  that  Louisa  did,  after  she  had  got 
up  in  the  morning,  was  to  go  and  feed  her  little 
family  in  the  room,  and  also  those  that  c'^'^ie  into 
the  yard.  Though  the  seed  to  feed  them  cost  her 
nothing,  yet  she  recollteted  that  the  many  pur- 
chases she  had  lately  made  of  birds  must  have  al- 
most exhausted  her  purse;  "  and  if  the  frost  should 
continue,  (said  she  to  herself,)  what  will  become  of 
those  poor  birds  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  purchase! 
Those  naughty  boys  will  either  give  them  to  their 
cats,  or  suffer  them  to  die  with  hunger. 

While  she  was  giving  way  to  these  sorrowful 
reflections,  her  hand  was  moving  gently  into  her 
pocket,  in  order  to  bring  out  her  exhausted  purse  ; 
but  judge  what  must  be  her  surprise  and  astonish- 
ment when,  instead  of  pulling  out  an  empty  purse, 
she  found  it  brim  full  of  money  !  She  ran  imme- 
diately to  her  papa,  to  tell  him  of  this  strange  cir- 
cumstance, when  he  snatched  her  up  in  his  arms, 
tenderly  embraced  her,  and  shed  tears  of  joy  on 
her  blooming  cheeks. 

"  My  dear  child,  (said  her  papa  to  her,)  you 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  27 

cannot  conceive  how  happy  you  now  make  me  ! 
Let  these  little  birds  continue  to  be  the  o'oject  of 
your  relief,  and  be  assured,  your  purse  shall  never 
be  reduced  to  emptiness."  This  pleasing  news 
gladdened  the  little  heart  of  Louisa,  and  she  ran 
immediately  to  fill  her  apron  with  seed,  and  then 
hastened  to  feed  her  feathered  guests.  The  birds 
came  fluttering  round  her,  and  seemed  conscious 
of  her  bounty  and  generosity. 

After  feeding  these  happy  prisoners,  she  went 
down  into  the  yard,  and  there  distributed  a  plenti- 
ful meal  to  the  starving  wanderers  without.  What 
an  important  trust  she  now  had  taken  on  herself  ? — 
nothing  less  than  the  support  of  a  hundred  depen- 
dants within  doors,  and  a  still  greater  number 
without  !  No  wonder  that  her  dolls  and  other 
playthings  should  be  now  totally  forgotten. 

As  Louisa  was  putting  her  hand  into  the  seed- 
bag,  to  take  out  of  it  the  afternoon  food  for  her 
birds,  she  found  a  paper  on  which  w^as  written 
these  words  :  "  The  inhabitants  of  the  air  fly  to- 
wards thee,  O  Lord  !  and  thou  givest  them  their 
food  ;  thou  openest  thy  hand,  and  iillest  all  things 
living  with  plenteousness." 

As  she  saw  her  papa  behind  her,  she  turned 
round  and  said,  "  I  am  therefore  now  imitating 
God." — <<  Yes,  my  sweet  Louisa,  said  her  father. 


28  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

in  every  good  action  we  imitate  our  maker 
When  you  shall  be  grown  to  maturity,  you  will 
then  assist  the  necessitous  part  of  the  human  race 
as  you  now  do  the  birds,  and  the  more  good  you 
do,  the  nearer  you  will  approach  the  perfections 
of  God." 

Louisa  continued  her  attention  to  feed  her  hun- 
gry birds,  for  more  than  a  week,  when  the  snow 
began  to  melt,  and  the  fields  by  degrees  recover- 
ed their  former  verdure.  The  birds  who  had 
lately  been  afraid  to  quit  the  warm  shelter  of  the 
house,  now  returned  to  the  woods  and  groves. 
The  birds  in  our  little  Louisa*s  aviary  were  con- 
fined and  therefore  could  not  get  away  -,  but  they 
shewed  their  inclination  to  depart,  by  flying 
against  the  windows,  and  pecking  the  glass  with 
their  bills.  These  birds,  perhaps  were  industrious, 
and  wished  not  to  be  troublesome  to  Louisa,  since 
they  could  now  procure  their  own  living. 

Louisa  not  being  able  to  comprehend  what 
could  make  them  so  uneasy,  asked  her  papa  if  he 
could  tell  the  cause  of  it.  "  I  know  not,  my  dear, 
(said  her  papa)  but  it  is  possible  these  little  birds 
may  have  left  some  companions  in  the  fields, 
which  they  now  wish  to  see." — "  You  are  very 
right  papa,  (replied  Louisa)  and  they  shall  have 
their  liberty  immediately,'^  She  accordingly  open- 


THE    LOOKING-GLASS.  '29 

^d  the  window,  and  all  the  birds  soon  flew  out  of 
it. 

These  Httle  feathered  animals  had  no  sooner 
obtained  their  liberty,  than  some  were  seen  hop- 
ping on  the  ground,  others  darting  into  the  air, 
or  sporting  in  the  trees  from  twig  to  twig,  and 
some  fl .  ing  about  the  windows  chirping,  as  though 
out  of  gratitude  to  their  benefactor. 

Louisa  hardly  ever  went  into  the  fields,  but  she 
fancied  that  some  of  her  little  family  seemed  to 
welcome  her  approach,  either  by  hopping  before 
her,  or  entertaining  her  with  their  melodious 
notes,  which  afforded  her  a  source  of  inexhausti- 
ble  pleasure. 

Hail  lovely  powV  !  whose  bosom  heaves  a  sigh, 
V»^hen  fancy  paints  the  scene  of  deep  distress ; 

Whose  tears  spontaneous  chrystalize  the  eye. 
When  rigid  fate  denies  the  pow'r  to  bless. 

Not  all  the  sweets  Arabia's  gales  convey 

Fromflow'ry  meads,  can  with  that  sigh  compare 

Not  dew  drops  glittering  in  the  morning  ray, 
Seem  ne'er  so  beauteous  as  that  falling  tear. 

Devoid  of  fear  the  fawns  around  thee  play; 

Emblem  of  peace,  the  dove  before  thee  flies  ; 
No  blood-stained  traces  mark  thy  blameless  way; 

Beneath  thy  feet  no  helpless  insect  dies. 


30  THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 

Come,  lovely  nymph,  and  range  the  mead  with  me, 
To  spring  the  partridge  from  the  guileful  foe, 

From  secret  snares  the  struggling  bird  to  free," 
And  stop  the  hand  upraisM  to  give  the  blow. 

And  when  the  air  with  heat  meridian  glbws, 
And  nature  droops  beneath  the  conq'ring  gleam, 

].-et  us,  slow  wand'ring  where  the  current  flows, 
Save  sinking  flies  that  float  along  the  stream. 

Or,  turn  to  nobler,  greater  tasks  thy  care. 
To  me  thy  sympathetic  griefs  impart  •, 

Teach  me  in  friendship's  griefs  to  bear  a  share  ; 
And  justly  boast  the  genVous  feeling  heart. 

Teach  me  to  sooth  the  helpless  orphan's  grief; 
With  timely  aid  the  widow's  woes  assuage  ; 
To  mis'ry's  moving  cries  to  yield  relief, 
And  be  the  sure  resource  of  drooping  age. 

So  when  the  verdant  spring  of  youth  shall  fade, 
And  sinking  nature  owns  the  dread  decay, 

Some  soul  congenial  then  may  lend  its  aid, 
And  gild  the  close  of  life's  eventful  day. 


THE  L00KIN<5-GLASS. 


31 


THE  STORY  OF  BERTRAND,  A  POOR    LABOURER, 
AND   HIS  LITTLE  FAMILY. 


THINK  yourselves  happy,  my  little  readers, 
since  none  of  you  perhaps  know  what  it  is  to  en- 
dure hunger  day  after  day,  without  being  able  to 
enjoy  one  plentiful  meal.  Confident  I  am,  that 
the  following  relation  will  not  fail  to  make  an  in- 
pression  on  your  tender  hearts. 

Bertrand  was  a  poor  labourer,  who   had  six 
young  children  whom  he  maintained  with  the  ut- 


32  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

most  difficulty.  To  add  to  his  distresses  an  unfa- 
vourable season  much  increased  the  price  of  bread. 
This  honest  labourer  worked  day  and  night  to 
procure  subsistence  for  his  family/ and  though 
their  food  was  composed  of  the  coarsest  kind,  yet 
even  of  that  he  could  not  procure  a  sufficiency. 

Finding  himself  reduced  to  extremity,  he  one 
day  called  his  little  family  together,  and  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  a  heart  overflowing  with 
grief,  "  My  sweet  children,  said  he  to  them,  bread 
is  now  so  extravagantly  dear,  that  I  find  all  my  ef* 
forts  to  support  you  ineffectual.  My  whole  day's 
labour  is  barely  su.ficient  to  purchase  this  piece  of 
bread  which  you  see  in  n^y  hand  !  it  must  there- 
fore be  divided  among  you,  and  you  must  be  con- 
tented with  the  little  my  labour  can  procure  you. 
Though  it  will  not  afford  each  of  you  a  plentiful 
meal,  yet  it  will  be  sufficient  to  keep  you  from 
perishing  with  hunger."  Sorrow  and  tears  inter- 
rupted his  words,  and  he  could  say  no  more,  but 
lifted  up  his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven. 

His  children  wept  in  silence,  and  young  as  they 
were  their  little  hearts  seemed  to  feel  more  for 
their  father  than  for  themselves.  Bertrand  then 
divided  the  small  portion  of  bread  into  seven 
equ  il  shares,  one  of  which  he  kept  for  himself,  and 
gave  to  the  rest  each  their  lot.     But  one  of  them, 


THE  LOOKING-GlLASS.  33 

named  Han;y,  refused  his  share,  telling  his  father 
he  could  not  eat,  pretending  to  be  sick.  <"  What 
is  the  matter  with  you,  my  dear  child  ?"  said  his 
father,  taking  him  up  in  his  arms.  '■'  I  am  very- 
sick,  (replied  Harry)  very  sick  indeed,  and  should 
be  glad  to  go  to  sleep  "  Bertrand  then  carried 
him  to  bed  and  gave  him  a  tender  kiss,  wishing 
him  a  good  night. 

The  next  morning,  the  honest  labourer,  over- 
whelmed with  sorrow,  went  to  a  neighbouring 
physician,  and  begged  him,  as  a  charity,  to  come 
and  see  his  poor  boy.  Though  the  physician  was 
sure  of  never  being  paid  for  his  visit,  yet  such  was 
his  humanity  and  feelings,  that  he  instantly  went 
to  the  labourer's  house. 

On  his  arrival  there,  he  found  no  particular 
symptoms  of  illnessj  though  the  boy  was  evidently 
in  a  very  low  and  languishing  state.  The  doctor 
tcld  him  he  would  send  him  a  cordial  draught ; 
but  Harry  begged  he  would  forbear  sending  him 
any  thing,  as  he  could  do  him  no  good.  The 
doctor  was  a  little  angry  at  this  behaviour,  and  in- 
sisted on  knowing  what  his  disorder  was,  threat- 
ening him,  if  he  did  not  tell  him  immediately,  he 
would  go  and  acquaint  his  father  with  his  obstina- 
D 


34-  THE  LOOKINC-GLASS. 

Poor  Harry  begged  the  doctor  would  say  no- 
thing about  it  to  his  father,  which  still  more  in- 
creased the  doctor's  wish  to  get  at  the  bottom  of 
this  mystery.  At  last,  poor  Harry  finding  the  doc- 
tor resolute,  desired  his  brothers  and  sisters  might 
leave  the  room,  and  he  would  acquaint  him  with 
every  particular. 

As  soon  as  the  physician  had  sent  the  children 
out  of  the  room,  "  Alas,  sir,  said  little  Harry,  in 
this  season  of  scarcity,  my  poor  dear  father  can- 
not earn  bread  enough  to  feed  us.  What  little 
quantity  he  can  get,  he  divides  equally  among  us, 
reserving  to  himself  the  smallest  part.  To  see  my 
clear  brothers  and  sisters  suffer  hunger  is  more 
than  I  can  bear  ;  and,  as  I  am  the  eldest,  and 
stronger  than  they,  I  have  therefore  not  eaten  any 
myself,  but  have  divided  my  share  among  them. 
It  is  on  this  account  that  I  pretended  to  be  sick, 
and  unable  to  eat.  I  beseech  you,  hpwever,  to 
keep  this  a  secret  from  my  father." 

The  physician,  wiping  a  tear  which  started  in- 
voluntarily from  his  eye,  asked  poor  Harry  if  he 
was  not  then  hungry.  He  acknowledged  indeed 
that  he  was  hungry  •,  but  said  that  did  not  give 
him  so  much  affliction  as  to  sec  the  distresses  of 
his  family.     «  But  my  good  lad,  said  the  doctor, 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  3o 

if  you  do  not  take  some  nourishment  you  will 
die." — I  am  indifferent  about  that,  replied  Harry, 
since  my  father  will  have  then  one  mouth  less  to 
feed  and  I  shall  go  to  heaven,  where  I  will  pray 
to  God  to  assist  my  dear  father  and  my  little  sis- 
ters and  brothers. 

What  heart  but  must  melt  with  pity  and  admi- 
ration at  the  relation  of  such  facts  ?  the  generous 
physician  taking  up  Karrv  in  his  arms,  and  clasp- 
ing him  to  his  bosom,  «'  No,  my  dear  little  boy, 
(said  he)  thou  shalt  not  die.  God  and  I  will  take 
care  of  thy  little  family,  and  return  thanks  to 
God  for  having  sent  me  hither.  I  must  leave  you 
for  the  present .  but  will  soon  return." 

The  good  physician  hastened  home,  and  order- 
ed one  of  his  servants  to  load  himself  with  refresh- 
ments of  every  kind.  He  then  hastened  to  the 
relief  of  poor  Harry  and  his  starving  brothers  and 
sisters.  He  made  them  all  sit  down  at  the  table 
and  eat  till  they  were  perfectly  satisfied.  What 
could  be  a  more  pleasing  scene,  than  that  which 
the  good  physician  then  beheld,  six  pretty  little 
innocent  creatures  smiling  over  the  bounty  of 
their  generous  and  humane  friend  ! 

The  doctor  on  his  departure,  desired  Harry  to 
be  under  no  uneasiness,  as  he  should  take  care  to 


.36  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

procure  them  a  supply  of  whatever  might  be  want^ 
ing.  He  faithfully  performed  his  promise,  and 
t-hev  had  daily  cause  of  rejoicing  at  his  bounty  and 
benevolence.  The  doctor's  generosity  was  imitat- 
ed by  every  good  person,  to  whom  he  related  the 
affecting  scene.  From  some  they  received  provi- 
!iions,  from  some  money,  and  from  others  clothes 
and  linen.  So  that,  in  a  short  time,  this  little  fam- 
ily, which  was  but  lately  in  want  of  every  thing, 
became  possessed  of  plenty. 

Bcrtrand's  landlord  who  was  a  gentleman  of 
onsiderable  fortune,  was  so  striMik  with  the  ten- 
der generosity  of  little  Harry,  that  he  sent  for  his 
father,  and  paying  him  many  compliments  on  his 
happiness  oi  having  such  a  son,  he  offered  to  take 
Harry  under  his  own  inspection,  and  bring  him 
up  in  his  own  house.  This  matter  being  agreed 
on,  Bertrand's  landlord  settled  an  annuity  on  him, 
promising  at  the  same  time,  to  provide  for  his 
other  children  as  they  grew  up.  Bertrand,  trans- 
ported with  joy,  returned  to  his  house,  and  falling 
on  liis  knees  offered  up  his  most  grateful  thanks 
to  that  good  God,  who  had  graciously  condescend- 
ed to  bestow  on  him  such  a  son  ! 

Hence  you  may  learn,  my  young  readers  how 
much  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  prove  a  bless- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  37 

ing  to  your  parents  and  a  comfort  to  yourselves! 
It  is  not  necessary,  that,  in  order  to  do  so,  you 
should  be  reduced  to  the  same  necessity  that  poor 
Harry  was :  for  however  exalted  your  station  may 
be,  you  will  always  find  opportunities  enough  to 
give  proofs  of  your  duty  to  your  parents,  your  af- 
fection for  your  brothers  and  sisters,  and  your  hu- 
manity and  benevolence  to  the  poor  and  needy, 
Happy  indeed  are  those  poor  children,  who  have 
found  a  friend  and  protector  when  they  were 
needful  and  helpless ;  but  much  happier  those, 
who,  without  ^ver  feeUng  the  griping  hand  of 
penury  and  want  themselves,  have  received  the 
inexpressible  delight  that  never  fails  to  rise  from 
the  pleasing  reflection,  of  having  raised  honest 
poverty  to  happiness  and  plenty. 

HOW  happy  is  he  born  or  taught, 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 

Whose  armour  is  his  honest  thought , 
And  simple  truth  his  highest  skill. 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are  5 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death  , 

Nor  ty*d  unto  the  world  with  care 
Of  princes'  ear,  or  vulgar  breath, 
D  2 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Who  hath  his  life  from  humours  freed, 
Whose  CONSCIENCE  is  his  strong  retreat, 

Whose  state  can  neither  flatt'rers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great. 

Who  envies  none  whom  chance  doth  raise 
Or  vice  •,  who  never  understood 

How  deepest  wounds  aregiv'n  with  praise; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good  : 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray, 
More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend, 

And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  well  chosen  book  or  friend  ! 

This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise  or  fear  to  fall, 

Lord  of  himself  though  not  of  lands 
And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  alK 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


39 


NANCY  AND  HER  CANARY  BIRD,  POOR  CHERRY. 

AS  Nancy  was  one  day  looking  out  of  her  win- 
dow, a  man  happened  to  come  by,  crying,  «  Cana- 
ry birds  ',  come  buy  my  canary  birds.''  The  man 
had  a  large  cage  upon  his  head,  in  which  the  birds 
hopped  about  from  perch  to  perch,  and  made 
Nancy  quite  in  love  wim  them.  ^<  Will  you  buy 
a  pretty  bird  or  two,  miss  ?"  said  the  man.  I  have 
no  objection,  replied  the  litile  lady,  provided  my 
papa  will  give  me  leave.  If  you  will  stop  a  little 
while's  will  soon  let  you  know."  So  away  ran 
Nancy  down  stairs  to  her  papa,  while  the  bird  man, 
put  down  his  cage  at  the  door. 


10  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Nancy  ran  into  her  papa's  chamber  quite  out 
of  breath,  crying,  *'-  O  dear  papa  ;  only  come  here  ! 
here  is  a  man  in  the  street  that  has  a  large  cage  on 
his  head  with  I  dare  say,  an  hundred  canary  birds 
in  it. — "  Well  and  what  of  all  that  ?  replied  her 
papa,  why  does  that  seem  to  rejoice  you  so  much  ?'* 
Nancy  answering  that  she  should  be  happy  to  buy 
one  of  them,  her  papa  reminded  her,  that  the 
bird  must  be  fed,  and  should  it  be  neglected,  even 
only  for  a  day,  it  would  certainly  die. 

Nancy  promised,  that  she  would  never  eat  her 
own  breakfast  till  she  had  given  her  bird  his ;  but 
her  papa  reminded  her  she  was  a  giddy  girl,  and 
that  he  feared  she  had  promised  too  much.  How- 
ever, there  was  no  getting  over  her  coaxings  and 
wheed lings,  so  that  her  papa  was  at  last  obliged  to 
consent  that  she  should  buy  one. 

He  then  took  Nancy  by  the  hand,  and  led  her 
to  the  door,  where  the  man  was  waiting  with  his 
birds.  He  chose  the  prettiest  canary  bird  in  it ; 
it  was  a  male,  of  a  fine  lively  yellow  colour,  with 
a  lictle  black  tuft  upon  his  head.  Nancy  was  now 
quite  cheerful  and  happy,  and  pulling  out  her 
purse,  gave  it  to  her  father  to  pay  for  the  bird. 
But  what  was  to  be  done  with  the  bird  without  a 
cage,  and  Nancy  had  not  money  enough  ?  However 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  41 

Upon  her  promising  that  she  would  take  great  care 
to  feed  her  bird,  her  papa  bought  her  a  fine  new 
cage  of  which  he,4iiade  her  a  present. 

As  soon  as  Nancy  had  given  her  canary  bird 
possession  of  his  new  palace,  she  ran  about  the 
house,  calling  her  mamma,  her  brothers  and  sssters, 
and  all  the  servants  to  come  and  see  her  pretty  ca- 
nary bird,  to  wliichshe  gave  the  name  of  Cherry. 
When  any  of  her  little  friends  came  to  see  her, 
the  first  thing  she  told  them  was  t-hat  she  had  one 
of  the  prettiest  canary  birds  in  the  world.  "  He 
is  as  yellow  as  gold,  said  she,  and  he  has  a  little 
black  crest  like  the  plumes  of  my  mamma's 
hat.  Come  you  must  go  and  see  him  !  His  nam.e 
is  Cheri  y." 

Cherry  was  as  happy  as  any  bird  need  wish  to 
be,  under  tlie  care,  of  Nancy.  Her  first  business 
every  morning  was  to  feed  Cherry :,  and  when- 
ever there  was  any  cake  at  table,  Cherry  was 
sure  to  come  in  for  a  share  of  it.  There  was  al- 
ways some  bits  of  sugar  in  store  for  him,  and  his 
cage  was  constantly  decorated  v»'ith  the  most  live- 
ly herbage. 

Her  pretty  bird  was  not  ungreatful,  but  did  all 
in  his  pov/er  to  make  N^mcy  sensible  how  m.uch 
he  was  obliged  to  her.  He  soon  learned  to  distin- 
guish her  and  the  mom.ent  he  heard  her  step  into 


1'^  TH  R  LOOKI V  G-GL  A  iJS. 

the  room,  he  would  flutter  his  wings,  and  keep  up 
an  incessant  chirping.  It  is  no  wonder,  therefore, 
if  Cherry  and  Nancy  became  jaery  fond  of  each 
other. 

At  the  expiration  of  a  week  he  began  to  open 
his  Uttle  throat,  and  sung  the  most  deHghtful  songs. 
He  would  sometimes  raise  his  notes  to  so  great 
a  height,  that  you  would  almost  think  he  must  kill 
hiuiself  with  such  vast  exertions.  Then,  after 
stopping  alittle»  he  would  begin  again,  with  a  tone 
so  sweet  and  powerful,  that  he  was  heard  in  every 
part  of  the  house. 

Nancy  would  often  sit  for  whole  hours  by  his 
cage,  listening  to  his  melody.  Sometimes,  so  at- 
tentively would  she  gaze  on  him,  that  she  would 
insensibly  let  her  work  fall  out  of  her  hands  *,  and, 
after  he  had  entertained  her  with  his  melodious 
notes,  she  would  regale  him  with  a  tune  on  her 
bird  organ,  which  he  would  endeavour  to  imitate. 

In  length  of  time,  however,  these  pleasures  be- 
gan to  grow  familiar  to  his  friend  Nancy.  Her 
papa,  one  day,  presented  her  with  a  book  of  prints, 
with  which  she  was  so  much  delighted,  that  Cher- 
ry began  to  lose  at  least  one  half  of  her  attention. 
As  usual,  he  would  chirp  the  moment  he  saw  her, 
let  her  be  at  what  distance  she  would  •,  but  Nan- 
cy began  to  take  no  notice  of  him,  and  almost  a 


THE  LOOKIKG-GLASS.  4-3 

week  had  passed,  without  his  receiving  either  a 
bit  of  biscuit,  or  a  fresh  supply  of  chickweed.  He 
repeated  the  sweetest  and  most  harmonious  notes 
that  Nancy  had  taught  him,  but  to  no  purpose. 

It  now  appeared  too  clearly,  that  new  objects 
began  to  attract  Nancy's  attention.  Her  birth 
day  arrived,  and  her  good  father  gave  her  a  large 
jointed  doll,  which  she  amed  Columbine  ;  and 
this  said  Columbine  proved  a  sad  rival  to  Cherry  5 
for  from  morning  to  night,  the  dressing  and 
undressing  of  miss  Columbine  engrossed  the  whole 
of  her  time.  What  with  this  and  her  carrying 
her  doll  up  and  down  stairs,  and  into  every  room 
In  the  house,  it  was  happy  for  poor  Cherry  if  he 
got  fed  by  the  evening,  and  sometimes  it  happened, 
that  he  went  a  whole  day  without  feeding. 

One  day,  however,  when  Nancy's  papa  was  at 
table,  accidentally  casting  his  eyes  upon  the  cage, 
he  saw  poor  Cherry  lying  upon  his  breast  and 
panting  as  if  it  were  for  life.  The  poor  bird's  fea- 
thers appeared  all  rough,  and  it  seemed  contract- 
ed into  a  mere  lump.  Nancy's  papa  went  up 
close  to  it  ;  but  it  was  unable  even  to  ch  rp,  and 
the  poor  little  creature  had  hardly  strength  enough 
to  breathe.  He  called  to  him  his  httle  Nancy, 
and  asked  her  what  wa^"  the  matter  with  her  bird. 
Nancy  blushed,  saying  in  a  low  voice,  "  Why  pa- 


I'i  THE  LOOK ING-GL ASS. 

pa,  I  somehow,  I   forgot  ;"   and  ran  to  fetch    the 
seed  box. 

Her  papa  in  the  mean  time,  took  down  the  cage 
and  found  that  poor  Cherry  had  not  a  single  seed 
left,  nor  a  drop  of  water.  «  Alas,  poor  bird, 
said  he,  you  have  got  into  careless  hands.  Had  I 
foreseen  this,  I  would  never  have  bought  yoii." 
All  the  company  joined  in  pity  for  the  poor  l.ir^, 
and  Nancy  ran  away  into  her  chamber  to  ease  her 
h  arr  in  tears.  However,  herpapa,  with  some  dif- 
ficulty, brought  pretty  cherry  to  himself  again. 

Her  father,  the  next  day  ordered  Cherry  to  be 
m  >de  a  present  of  to  a  young  gentleman  in  the 
neighbourhood,  who,  he  said,  would  take  much 
better  careof  it  than  hislittle  thoughtless  daughter, 
but  poor  Nancy  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  parting 
with  her  bird,  and  most  iaithtully  promised  never 
more  to  neglect  him 

Her  papa,  at  last,  gave  way  to  her  entreaties  : 
a  i.i  permitted  her  to  keep  little  Cherry,  but  not 
without  a  severe  reprimand,  and  a  strict  injunc- 
tion to  be  more  careful  for  the  future.  '*  This 
p^or  little  creature  said  her  papa,  is  confined  in  a 
prison,  and  is  therefore  totally  unable  to  provide 
for  its  own  wants.  Whenever  you  want  any  thing, 
you  kiow  how  to  get  it  ;  but  this  little  bird  can 
neither  help  himself,  nor  make  his  wants  known 


THP  LOOKING-GLASS,  45 

to  Others.  If  ever  you  let  him  want  seed  or  wa- 
ter again,  look  to  it." 

Nancy  burst  out  into  a  flood  of  tears,  took  her 
papa  by  the  hand,  and  kissed  it ;  but  her  heart  was 
so  full  that  she  could  not  utter  a  syllable.  Cherry 
and  Nancy  were  now  again  good  friends,  and  he 
for  some  time  wanted  nothing. 

About  a  month  afterwards,  her  father  and 
mother  were  obliged  to  go  a  little  way  into  the 
country  on  some  particular  business  j  but  before 
they  set  out,  he  gave  Nancy  strict  charge  to  take 
care  of  poor  Cherry.  No  sooner  were  her  parents 
gone,  than  she  ran  to  the  cage,  and  gave  Cherry 
plenty  of  seed  and  water. 

Little  Nancy,  now  finding  herself  alone  and  at 
liberty,  sent  for  some  of  her  companions  to  come 
and  spend  the  day  with  her.  The  former  part  of 
the  day  they  passed  in  the  garden,  and  the  latter  at 
playing  at  bjindman's  buff  and  four  corners.  She 
went  to  bed  very  much  fatigued  ;  but,  as  soon  as 
she  awoke  in  the  morning,  she  began  to  think  of 
new  pleasures. 

She  went  abroad  that  day  while  poor  Cherry 

was  obliged  to  stay  at  jjiome  and  fast.     The  second 

^fc  ^d  third  Jay  passed  in  the  same  playful  manner  as 

before  •,  but  no  poor  Cherry  was  thought  of.     On 

E 


4ti  I'HE    LOQKIWC-GLASS. 

the  fourth  day,  her  father  and  mother  came  home, 
and,  as  soon  as  they  had  kissed  her,  her  father  en- 
quired after  poor  Cherry.  "  He  is  very  well,"  said 
Nancy,  a  little  confused,  and  then  ran  to  fetch 
him  some  seed  and  water.  But  alas,  poor  Cherry 
was  no  more  :  he  was  lying  upon  his  back,  with 
his  wings  spread,  and  his  beak  open.  Nancy 
screamed  out,  and  wrung  her  hands,  when  all  the 
family  ran  to  her,  and  were  witnesses  of  the  me- 
lancholy scene. 

**  Alas,  poor  bird,  said  her  papa,  what  a  me- 
lancholy end  hast  thou  come  to  ?  If  I  had  twisted 
thy  head  off  the  day  I  went  into  the  country,,  it 
would  have  caused  you  but  a  moment's  pain,  but 
now  you  have  endured  all  the  pangs  of  hunger  and 
thirst,  and  expired  in  extreme  agony.  However, 
poor  Cherry,  you  are  happy  in  being  out  of  the 
hands  of  so  merciless  a  guardian. 

Nancy  was  so  shocked  and  dis  resscd  on  the 
occasion,  that  she  would  have  given  all  her  little 
treasure,  and  even  all  her  playthings  to  have 
bi  ought  Cherry  to  life  ;  but  it  was  now  too  late. 
Her  papa  had  the  bird  stuffed,  and  hung  up  to 
the  ceiling,  in  memory  of  Nancy's  carelessness 
She  dared  not  even  to  lift  her  eyes  up  to  look  afi 
for  whenever  she  did,  it  was  sure  to  make  her  crfT 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  4  i 

At  last  she  prevailed  on  her  papa  to  have  it  remov- 
ed, but  not  till  after  many  earnest  and  repeated 
acknowledgments  of  the  fault  she  had  been  guilty 
of  Whenever  Nancy  w^as  guilty  of  inattention  or 
giddiness,  the  bird  was  hung  up  again  in  its  place, 
and  every  one  would  say  in  her  hearing,  *'  Alas, 
poor  Cherry,  what  a  cruel  death  you  suffered  !" 

Thus  you  see,  my  little  friends,  what  are  the 
sad  consequences  of  inattention,  gid^*iness,  and 
too  great  a  fondness  for  pleasure,  v/hich  always 
makes  us  forgetful  of  what  we  ought  carefully  to 
attend  to. 

Time  was  when  I  was  free  as  air, 
The  thistle's  downy  seed  my  fare, 

My  drink  the  morning  dew  ; 
I  perch'd  at  will  on  ev'ry  spray, 
My  form  genteel,  my  plumage  gay. 

My  strains  forever  new. 

But  gaudy  plumage,  sprightly  strain. 
And   form  genteel,  were  all  in  vain, 

And  of  a  transient  date  \ 
For  caught,  and  cag'd,  and  starv'd  to  death, 
•^         In  dying  sighs  my  httle  breath, 
Soon  pass'd  the  ^\xy  giate. 


4.'8  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Thanks,  little  miss,  for  all  my  woes, 

And  thanks  tor  this  effectual  close, 

And  cure  of  every  ill  ! 

More  cruelty  could  none  express. 

And  I,  if  you  had  shewn  me  less, 

Had  been  your  prisoner  still. 


€ 


IHE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


iM 


THE  BIRDS,  THE  THORN-BUSHES,  AND  THE  SHEEP,. 


MR.  STANHOPE  and  his  son  Gregory  were 
one  evening,  in  the  month  of  May,  sitting  at  the 
foot  of  a  deHghtful  hill,  and  surveying  the  beautiful 
works  of  nature  that  surrounded  them.  The  re- 
clining sun  now  sinking  into  the  west,  seemed  to 
clothe  every  thing  with  a  purple  robe.  The  cheer- 
ful song  of  a  shepherd  called  off  their  attention 
from  their  meditations  on  those  delightful  pros- 
pects.    This  shepherd  was  driving  home  his  flock 

from  the  adjacent  fields. 

E2 


50  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Thorn  bushes  grew  on  each  side  of  the  road, 
and  every  sheep  that  approached  the  thorns  was 
sure  to  be  robbed  of  some  part  of  its  wool,  which 
a  good  deal  displeased  little  Gregory.  "  Only  see, 
papa,  said  he,  how  the  sheep  are  deprived  of  their 
wool  by  those  bushes  !  You  have  often  told  me, 
that  God  makes  nothing  in  vain  -,  but  these  briars 
seem  made  only  for  mischief  ;  people  should  join 
to  destroy  them  root  and  branch.  Were  the  poor 
sheep  to  come  often  this  way,  they  would  be  rob- 
bed of  all  their  clothing.  But  that  shall  not  be  the 
case  j  for  I  will  rise  with  ihe  sun  to-morrow  morn- 
ing and  with  my  little  bill-hook  and  snip-snap,  I 
will  level  all  these  briars  with  the  ground.  You 
may  come  with  me,  papa,  if  you  please,  and  bring 
with  you  an  axe.  Before  breakfast,  we  shall  be 
able  to  destroy  them  all." 

Mr  Stanhope  replied,  "  We  must  not  go  about 
this  business  in  too  great  a  hurry,  but  take  a  lit- 
tle time  to  consider  of  it  j  perhaps,  there  may  not 
be  so  much  cause  of  being  angry  with  these  bushes 
as  you  seem  at  present  to  imagine.  Have  you  not 
seen  the  shepherds  about  Lammas,  with  great 
shears  in  their  hands,  take  from  the  trembling 
sheep  all  their  wool,  not  being  contented  with  a 
few  locks  only  ?" 

Gregory  allowed  that  was  true  j  but  they  did  ir 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  5i 

in  order  to  make  clothes  ;  whereas  the  hedges 
robbed  the  sheep  without  having  the  least  occasion 
for  their  wool,  and  evidently  for  no  useful  purpose. 
"  If  it  be  usual,  said  he,  for  sheep  to  lose  their 
clothing  at  a  certain  time  of  the  year,  then  it  is 
much  better  to  take  it  for  our  own  advantage,  than 
to  suffer  the  hedges  to  pull  it  off  for  no  end  what- 
ever." 

Mr.  Stanhope  allowed  the  arguments  of  little 
Gregory  to  be  just ;  for  nature  has  given  to  every 
beast  a  clothing,  and  we  are  obliged  from  them 
to  borrow  our  own,  otherwise  we  should  be  forced 
to  go  naked,  and  exposed  to  the  inclemency  of  the 
elements. 

"  Very  well,  papa,  said  Gregory,  though  we 
want  clothing,  yet  these  bushes  want  none :  they 
rob  usof  Avhat  we  have  need  j  and  therefore  down 
they  shall  all  come  with  to-morrow  morning's  ris- 
ing sun.  And  I  dare  say,  papa,  you  will  come 
along  with  me,  and  assist  me." 

Mr.  Stanhope  could  not  but  consent,  and  little 
Gregory  thought  himself  nothing  less  than  an 
Alexander,  merely  from  the  expectation  of  des- 
troying at  once  this  formidable  band  of  robbers. 
He  could  hardly  sleep,  being  so  much  taken  up 
with  the  idea  of  his  victories,  to  which  the  next 
morning's  sun  was  to  be  witness. 


THE  LOOKING  GLASS.  5''2 

The  cheerful  lark  had  hardly  begun  to  proclaim 
the  approach  of  morning,  when  Gregory  got  up 
and  ran  to  awake  his  papa.  Mr.  Stanhope,  though 
he  was  very  indifferent  concerning  the  fate  of  the 
thorn-bushes,  yet  he  was  not  displeased  with  hav- 
ing the  opportunity  ot  shewing  to  his  little  Grego^ 
ry  the  beauties  of  the  rising  sun.  They  both  dress- 
ed themselves  immediately,  took  the  necessary  in- 
struments, and  set  out  on  this  important  expedi- 
tion. Young  Gregory  marched  forward  with  such 
hasty  steps,  that  Mr.  Stanhope  was  obliged  to  ex- 
ert  himself  to  avoid  being  left  behind. 

When  they  came  near  the  bushes,  they  observ- 
ed a  multitude  of  little  birds  flying  in  and  out  of 
them,  and  fluttering  their  wings,  from  branch  to 
branch.  On  seeing  this,  Mr.  Stanhope  stopped  his 
son,  and  desired  him  to  suspend  his  vengeance  a 
little  time,  that  they  might  not  disturb  those  inno- 
cent birds.  With  this  view,  they  retired  to  the 
foot  ol  the  hill,  where  they  had  sat  the  preceding 
evening,  and  from  thence  examined  more  particu- 
larly what  had  occasioned  this  apparent  bustle 
among  the  birds.  From  hence  they  plainly  saw, 
that  they  were  employed  in  carrying  away  those 
bits  of  wool  in  their  beaks,  which  the  bushes  had 
Corn  from  the  sheep  the  evening  before,     Ther? 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  53 

came  a  multitude  of  different  sorts  of  birds  who 
loaded  themselves  with  the  plunder. 

Gregory  was  quite  astonished  at  this  sight,  and 
asked  his  papa  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  it. 
*^  You  by  this  plainly  see,  replied  Mr.  Stanhope, 
that  Providence  provides  for  creatures  of  every 
class,  and  furnishes  them  with  all  things  necessary 
for  their  convenience  and  preservation.  Here, 
you  see,  the  poor  birds  find  what  is  necessary  for 
their  habitations,  wherein  they  are  to  nurse  and 
rear  their  young,  and  with  this  they  make  a  com- 
fortable bed  tor  themselves  and  their  little  proge- 
ny. The  innocent  thorn-bush,  against  which  you 
yesterday  so  loudly  exclaimed,  is  of  infinite  ser- 
vice to  the  inhabitants  of  the  air ;  it  takes  from 
those  that  are  rich,  only  what  they  can  very  well 
spare,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  wants  of  the  poor. 
Have  you  now  any  wish  to  cut  those  bushes  down, 
which  you  will  perhaps  no  longer  consider  as  rob- 
bers I" 

Gregory  shook  his  head,  and  said,  he  would 
not  cut  the  bushes  down  for  the  world.  Mr.  Stan- 
hope applauded  his  son  for  so  saying  ;  and  after 
enjoying  the  sweets  of  the  morning,  they  retired 
home  to  breakfast,  leaving  the  bushes  to  flourish 
in  peace,  since  they  made  so  generous  a  use  of  their 
conquests. 


34  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

My  young  friends,  you  will  hence  be  convinceu 
of  the  Impropriety  of  cherishing,  too  hastily,  pre- 
judices against  any  persons  or  things,  since,  how- 
ever forbidding  or  useless  they  may  at  first  sight 
appear,  a  more  familiar  acquaintance  with  them 
may  discover  those  accomplishments  or  perfec- 
tions, which  prejudice  at  first  obscured  from  dieir 
observation. 

Sweet  contemplation  to  pursue, 
Behold  a  rural  scene  in  view, 
The  bleating  herds,  the  lowing  kine, 
The  spreading  oak,  the  tow'ring  pine, 
The  air  from  noxious  vapours  free, 
Whilst  squirrels  trip  from  tree  to  tree, 
And  the  sweet  songsters  hover  round. 
Fruits,  herbs,  and  flowers,  enrich  the  ground, 
And  each  their  various  fruits  produce, 
Some  for  delight,  and  some  for  use. 
Behold,  O  youth!  this  scene,  and  see, 
What  nature's  God  hath  given  thee. 
With  wonder  view  his  great  designs, 
In  which  superior  wisdom  shines; 
Revere  his  name,  admire  his  love, 
And  raise  thv  thoughts  to  worlds  above. 


LtlE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


5.5 


POOR  CRAZY  JOE  AND    THE  MISCHIEVOUS  BOYS. 

IN  the  city  of  Philadelphia  lived  a  crazy  per- 
son, whose  name  was  Joe.  Whenever  he  went 
out  he  put  four  or  five  wigs  on  his  head  at  once, 
and  as  many  muffs  upon  each  of  his  arms.  Though 
he  had  unfortunately  lost  his  senses,  yet  he  was  not 
mischievous,  unless  wicked  boys  played  tricks  with 
him,  and  put  him  in  a  passion. 

Whenever  he  appeared  in  the  streets,  all  the 
idle  boys  would  surround  him,  crying,  *^  Joe  !  Joe  ! 
how  do  you  sell  your  wigs  and  your  mufFs  ?"  Some 
boys  were   of  such  mischievous  dispositions  as  to 


kk 


56  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

throw  dirt  and  stonps  at  him.  Though  the  unfor- 
tunate man  generally  bore  all  this  treatment  very 
quietly,  yet  he  would  sometimes  turn  about  in  his 
own  defence,  and  throw  among  the  rabble  that  fol- 
lowed him,  any  thing  that  came  in  his  way. 

A  contest  of  this  nature  happened  one  day  near 
the  house  of  Mr.  Denton,  who  hearing  a  noise  in 
the  street  went  to  the  window,  and  with  much  re- 
gret saw  his  son  James  concerned  in  the  fray.  Dis- 
pleased at  the  sight  he  shut  down  the  sash,  and 
went  into  another  room.  .^^^^ 

When  they  were  at  dinner,  Mr.  Denton  asked 
his  son  who  the  man  was,  with  whom  he  and  Ihe 
other  boys  in  the  street  seemed  to  be  so  pleasingly 
engaged.  James  said  it  was  the  crazy  man  whom 
they  called  Joe.  On  his  father  asking  him  what 
had  occasioned  that  misfortune,  he  replied,  that  it 
was  said  to  be  in  consequence  of  a  law  suit,  which 
deprived  him  of  a  large  estate. 

"  Had  this  man  been  known  to  you  (said  Mr. 
Denton,  at  the  time  when  he  was  cheated  of  his 
estate  }  and  had  lie  told  you,  that  he  had  just  lost  a 
large  inheritance,  which  he  had  long  peaceably 
enjoyed;  that  all  his  property  was  expended  in 
supporting  the  cause,  and  that  he  had  now  neither 
country   or   town   house,  in  short  nothing  upon 


-fHE  LOOKING-GLASS.  57 

earth  left,  would  you  then  have  laughed  at  this 
poor  man  ?" 

James  with  some  confusion  replied,  he  certainly 
should  not  be  guilty  ot  so  wicked  an  action  as  to 
laugh  at  the  misfortunes  of  any  man  ;  but  should 
rather  endeavour  to  comfort  him. 

"  This  man,  said  Mr.  Denton,  is  more  to  be  pi- 
tied now  than  he  was  then,  since  to  the  loss  of  his 
fortune  is  added  that  of  his  senses  also  ;  and  yet 
you  have  this  day  been  throwing  stones  at  this  poor 
man,  and  otherwise  insulting  him,  who  never  gave 
you  any  cause."  James  seemed  very  sorry  for 
what  he  had  done,  asked  his  papa's  pardon,  and 
promised  not  only  never  to  do  the  like  again,  but 
to  prevent  others,  as  much  as  lay  in  his  power 
from  committing  the  sam&  crime. 

His  father  told  him,  that  as  to  his  forgiveness, 
he  freely  had  it,  but  that  there  was  another  besides 
him,  whose  forgiveness  was  more  necessary.  Lit- 
tle James  thought  that  his  father  meant  poor  Joe ; 
but  Mr.  Denton  explained  the  matter  to  him. 
«  Had  Joe  retained  his  senses,  said  he,  it  would 
be  certainly  just  that  you  should  ask  his  pardon  ; 
but  as  his  disordered  mind  will  not  permit  him  to 
receive  any  apologies,  it  would  be  idle  to  attempt 
to  make  any;  It  is  not  Joe,  but  God  whom  yen 
F 


58  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

have  offended.  You  have  not  shewn  compassion  to 
poor  Joe,  but  by  your  unmerited  insults,  have  ad- 
ded to  his  misfortunes.  Can  you  think  that  God 
will  be  pleased  with  such  conduct .'"' 

James  now  plainly  perceived  whom  he  had  of- 
fended, and  therefore  promised  that  night  to  ask 
pardon  of  God  in  his  prayers.  He  kept  his  word, 
and  not  only  forbore  troubling  Joe  for  several 
weeks  afterwards,  but  endeavom^d  to  dissuade  all 
his  companions  from  doing  the  like. 

The  resolutions  of  young  p«6plej  however,  are 
not  always  to  be  depended  on  So  it  happened  with 
little  James,  who  forgetting  the  promises  he  had 
made,  one  day  happened  to  mix  with  the  rabble  of 
boys,  who  were  following  and  hooting,  and  play- 
ing many  naughty  tricks  with  poor  unfortunate 
Joe. 

The  more  he  mixed  among  them,  the  more  he 
forgot  himself,  and  at  last  became  as  bad  as  the 
worst  of  them.  Joe's  patience,  however,  being  at 
length  tired  out  by  the  rude  behaviour  of  the  wick- 
ed boys  that  pursued  him,  he  suddenly  turned 
about,  and  picking  up  a  large  stone,  threw  it  at 
little  James  with  such  violence,  that  it  grazed  his 
cheek  and  almost  cut  off  part  of  his  ear. 

Poor  James,  on  feeling  the  smart  occasioned  by 
the  blow,  and  finding  the  blood  trickling  down  his 


4 


w^ 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  59 

cheek  at  a  great  rate,  ran  home  roaring  most  ter- 
ribly. Mr.  Denton,  however,  shewed  him  no  pity, 
telling  him  it  was  the  just  judgment  of  God  for 
his  wickedness 

James  attempted  to  justify  himself  by  saying, 
that  Ife  was  not  the  only  one  who  was  guilty,  and 
therefore  ought  not  to  be  the  only  one  that  was 
punislied.  His  father  replied,  that,  as  he  knew 
better  than  the  other  boys,  his  crime  was  the  great- 
er. It  is  indeed  but  justice,  that  a  child  who  knows 
the  commands  of  God  and  his  parents,  should  be 
doubly  punished,  whenever  he  so  far   forgets  his 

ri^uiy  as  to  ranheadlong  into  wickedness. 

♦  Remember  this,  my  young  readers  ;  and,  in- 
stead of  adding  to  the  afHictions  of  others,  do 
whatever  you  can  to  alleviate  them,  and  God  will 
then  undoubtedly  have  compassion  on  you,  when- 
ever your  wants  and  distresses  shall  require  his  as- 


Ah  me  !  how  little  knows  the  human  heart. 
The  pleasing  task  of  sofi'ning  other's  woe  ; 

Stranger  to  joys  that  pity  can  impart. 

And  tears  sweet  sympathy  can  teach  to  flow. 

If  e'er  I've  mourn'd  my  humble,  lowly  state  ; 
If  e'er  I've  bow'd  my  knees  at  fortune's  shrine  j 


JBO 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


If  e'er  a  wish  escaped  me  to  be  great, 
The  fervent  pray'r,  humanity,  was  thine. 

Be  mine  the  blush  of  modest  worth  to  spare, 
To  change  to  smiles  affliction's  rising  sigh  ; 

The  kindred  warmth  of  ch  rity  to  share,  ^.^ 
Till  joy  shall  sparkle  from  the  tear-fiird  ey^. 


THE  LOOICIKG-CLASc 


H 


BELLA    AND    MARIAN. 


THE  sun  was  just  peeping  above  the  eastern 

edge  of  the  horizon,  to  enliven   with  his  golden 

rays  one  of  the   most  beautiful  mornings  of  the 

spring  when  Bella  went  down  into  the  garden  to 

taste  with  more  pleasure,  as  she  rambled  through 

those  enchanting  walks  the  delicacies  of  a  rich  cake, 

of  which  she  intended  to  make  her  first  meal. 

Her  heart  swelled  with  delight,  on  surveying 

the  beautifcs  of  the  rising  sun,  in  listening  to  the 
F2 


62  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

enlivening  notes  of  the  lark  and  on  breathing  the 
pleasing  fragrance,  which  the  surrounding  shrubs 
afforded. 

Bella  was  so  charmed  with  this  complication  of 
delights,  that  her  sweet  eyes  were  bedewed  with  a 
moisture,  which  rested  on  her  eye-lids  without 
dropping  in  tears.  Her  heart  felt  a  gentle  sensa- 
tion, and  her  mind  was  possessed  with  emotions  of 
benevolence  and  tenderness. 

The  sound  of  steps  in  the  walk,  however  all  on 
a  sudden,  interrupted  these  happy  feelings,  and  a 
little  girl  came  trippingr  towards  the  same  walk, 
eating  a  piece  of  coarse  brown  bread  with  the 
keenest  appetite.  As  she  was  also  rambling  about 
the  garden  for  amusement,  her  eyes  wandered 
here  and  there  unfixed  ;  so  that  she  came  up  close 
to  Bella  unexpectedly. 

As  soon  as  the  little  girl  saw  it  was  miss  Bella, 
she  stopped  short,  seemed  confused,  and  turning 
about,  ran  away  as  fast  as  she  could  ;  but  Bella 
called  to  her  and  asked  her  why  she  ran  away. 
This  made  the  little  girl  run  the  faster,  and  Bella 
endeavoured  to  pursue  her  ;  but  not  being  so 
much  used  to  exersise,  she  was  soon  left  behind. 
Luckily,  as  it  happened,  the  little  stranger  had 
turned  up  a  path  leading  into  that  in  which  Bella 
was.     Here  they  suddenly  met,  and  BeH,a  cauglU 


W 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  63 

her  by  the  arm,  saying,  «  Come,  I  have  you  fast 
now ;  you  are  my  prisoner,  and  cannot  get  away 
from  me." 

The  poor  girl  was  now  more  frightened  than 
ever,  and  struggled  hard  for  her  liberty ;  but>  af- 
ter some  time  the  sweet  accents  of  Bella,  and  her 
assurances  that  she  meant  only  to  be  her  friend, 
having  rather  allayed  her  fears,  she  became  a  little 
more  tractable,  and  quietly  followed  her  into  one 
of  the  summer-houses. 

Miss  Bella,  having  made  the  stranger  sit  down  by 
her,  asked  her  if  she  had  a  father  living,  and  what 
was  his  profession.  The  girl  told  her,  that,  thank 
God,  her  father  was  living,  and  that  he  did  any 
thing  for  an  honest  livelihood.  She  said  he  was 
then  at  work  in  the  garden,  and  had  brought  her 
with  him  that  morning, 

Bella  then  observing  that  the  young  stranger  had 
got  a  piece  of  brown  bread  in  her  hand,  desired 
she  would  let  her  taste  it,  but  she  said  it  so  scratch- 
ed her  throat  on  swallowing  a  bit  of  it,  that  she 
could  eat  no  more,  and  asked  the  little  girl,  why 
her  father  did  not  get  better  bread  for  her.  «'  Be- 
cause, replied  the  stranger,  he  does  not  get  so 
much  ijaoney  as  your  papa  •,  and  besides  that  there 
are  four  more  of  us,  and   we  all   eat  heartily. 


64  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

Sometimes  one  wants  a  frock,  another  a  jackec 
and  all  he  can  get  is  hardly  sufficient  for  us, 
without  laying  out  hardly  any  thing  upon  himself, 
though  he  never  misses  a  day's  work  while  he  has 
it  to  do. 

Upon  Bella's  asking  her  if  she  ever  eat  any 
plumb-cake,  she  said  she  did  not  even  know  what 
it  was  i  but  she  had  no  sooner  put  a  bit  into  her 
mouth,  which  miss  Bella  gave  her,  than  she  said 
she  had  never  in  her  life  tasted  any  thing  so  nice. 
She  then  asked  her  what  was  her  name  ;  when  the 
girl  rising  and  making  a  low  counesy,  said  it  was 
Marian. 

<*  Well  then,  my  good  Marian,  said  Bella,  stop 
here  a  moment ;  I  will  go  and  ask  my  governess 
for  something  for  you,  and  will  come  back  direct- 
ly ;  but  be  sure  you  do  not  go  away."  Marian  re- 
plied that  she  was  now  no  ways  afraid  of  her,  and 
that  she  should  certainly  wait  her  coming  back.      • 

Bella  ran  directly  to  her  governess,  and  begged 
she  would  give  her  some  currant  jelly  for  a  little 
girl,  who  had  nothing  but  dry  bread  for  breakfast. 
The  governess,  being  highly  pleased  with  the  good 
nature  of  her  amiable  pupil,  gave  her  some  in  a 
cup,  and  a  small  roll  also.  Bella  instalftly  ran 
away  with  it,  and  coming  to  Marian,  said  she  hoped 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  G5 

she  had  not  made  her  wait  •,  but  begged  her  to 
put  down  her  brown  bread  till  another  time,  and 
eat  what  she  had  brought  her. 

Marian,  after  tasting  the  jelly,  and  smacking  her 
lips,  said  it  was  very  nice  indeed,  and  asked  Bella 
if  she  eat  such  every  day.  Miss  replied  that  she 
eat  those  things  frequently,  and  if  she  would  come 
now  and  then,  she  would  always  give  her*  some: 

They  now  became  very  familiar  together,  and 
miss  Bella  asked  Marian  a  number  of  questions, 
such  as  whether  s^ie  never  was  sick,  seeing  her 
now  look  so  hearty,  and  in  what  manner  she  em- 
ployed her  time*.;, 

Marian  repli^oTshe  did  not  know  what  it  was  to 
be  sick  ;  and  as  to  her  employments,  in  winter 
she  went  to  get  straw  for  the  cow,  and  dry  sticks 
la  make  -the  pot  boil ;  in  summer  she  went  to 
weed  the  corn,  and  in  harvest-time,  to  glean  and 
pull  hops.  In  short  they  were  never  at  a  loss  for 
work ;  and  she  said  her  mother  would  make  a  sad 
noise,  if  any  of  her  little  ones  should  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  be  lazy. 

Miss  Bella  observing  that  her  little  visitor  went 
barefooted,  which  much  surprised  her,  was  in- 
duced toa^k  her  the  reason  of  it  ;  when  Marian  re- 
plied that  it  would  be  too  expensive  for  their  father 
to  think  of  finding  shoes  and  stockings  for  them 


66  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

all  and  therefore  none  of  them  had  an^;  but  they 
found  no  inconveniency  from  it,  since,  time  had 
so  hardened  the  bottom  of  their  feet,  as  to  make 
shoes  unnecessary. 

The  time  having  slipt  away  in  tn1|  J5:ind  of  chit- 
chat, Marian  told  miss  Bella  thst  she  must  be  go- 
ing, in  order  to  gather  some  greens  for  her  cow, 
who  woirid  want  her  breakfast  by  eight  o'clock. 
This  little  girl  did  not  eat  up  all  th^'tfeli  and  jelly, 
"but  saved  some  part  of  it  to  carry  home  to  her 
youngest  sister,  who  she  said,"*^e  was  sure  wouljfc; 
be  very  fond  of  it.  Bella  was  vastly  pleased  to  find 
Marian  was  so  tender  of  1  er.sdster,  and  desired 
she  would  not  fail  to  come  again  at  the  same  hour 
the  next  morning.  So  after  a  mutual  good-bye, 
they  separated  for  the  present. 

Miss  Bella  had  now,  fdr  the  first  time,  tasted 
the  pleasure  of  doing  good.  She  walked  a  littlflft 
ionger  in  the  garden,  enjoying  the  pleasing  reflec- 
tion how  happy  she  had  made  Marian,  how  grate- 
ful that  little  girl  had  showed  herself,  and  how 
pleased  her  sister  would  be  to  taste  currant  jelly, 
which  she  had  never  even  seen  before. 

Miss  Bella  was  enjoying  the  idea  of  the  plea- 
sure she  bhould  receive  from  her  future  bounties 
to  her  new  acquaintance,  when  she  recollected, 
thai  she  had  some  ribbands  and  a  necklace,  which 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  6  7 

ker  mamma  had  given  h«r  a  little  time  before,  but 
of  which  she  now  began  to  grow  tired.  Besides 
these,  she  had  some  other  old  things  to  give  her, 
which,  though  of  no  use  to  herself,  would  make 
Marian  quite  fine. 

The  next  morning  Marian  came  into  the  garden 
again,  and  miss  Bella  was  ready  to  receive  her, 
with  a  tolerable  good  portion  of  gingerbread.  In- 
deed this  interview  was  continued  every  morn- 
ing, and  miss  Bella  always  carried  some  dainties 
along  with  her.  I'Wybien  her  pocke^  failed  her,  she 
would  beg  her  maniraa  to  supply  her  with  some- 
thing out  of  ijie  pantry,  which  was  always  cheer- 
fully complied  with. 

One  day,  however,  it  happened,  that  Bella  re- 
ceived an  answer  which  gave  her  some  uneasiness. 
She  had  been  begging  her  mamma  to  advance  her 
something  on  her  weekly  allowance,  in  order  to 
buy  shoes  and  stockings  for  Marian  ;  to  which  her 
mamma  gave  her  a  flat  denial,  1^}l^g  her,  that 
she  wished  she  would  be  a  little  more  sparing  to 
her  favourite,  for  which  she  would  give  her  a  rea- 
son at  dinner-time.  Bella  was  a  little  surprised  at 
this  answer,  and  every  hour  appeared  an  age  till 
dinner-time  arrived. 

At  length  they  sat  down  to  table,  aud  dinner  was 
half  over  before  her  mamma  said  a  word  about 
Marian  -,  but   a  dish  of  shrimps  being  then  served 


eS  THE  L00KING-GLA$S. 

Up,  gave  her  mamma  an  opportunity  of  beginning 
the  conversation.  "  I  think  Bella,  said  the  ladjr, 
this  is  your  favourite  dish."  Bella  replied  it  was, 
and  could  not  help  observing,  how  happy  s^e  sup- 
posed poor  Marian  would  be  to  taste  them,  who 
she  imagined,  had  never .  so  much  as  seen  any. 
With  her  mamma's  leave,  she  begged  two  of  the 
smallest,  to  give  to  that  little  girl. 

Mrs.  Adams,  for  such  was  her  mamma's  name, 
seemed  unwilling  to  grant  her  request,  urging, 
that  she  was  afraid  she  would  do  her  favourite  mi 
harm  than  good.  «'  At  present,  said  her  mam 
she  eats  her  dry  brown  bread  with  an  appetite  and 
walks  barefooted  on  the  gravel  without  complain- 
ing. Should  you  continue  to  feed  her  with  dain- 
ties, and  accustom  her  to  wear  shoes  and  stockings, 
wh^t  would  she  do,  should  she  by  any  means  lose 
your  favour,  and  with  it  all  those  indulgencie&j? 
She  will  then  lament  that  she  had  ever  experierBf 
ed  your  bounty. 

Miss  Bella  hastily  replied,  that  she  meant  to  be 
a  friend  to  her  all  her  life,  and  only  wished  that  her 
mamma  in  order  to  enable  her  to  do  so,  would 
add  a  little  to  her  weekly  allowance,  and  she  would 
manage  it  with  all  the  frugality  possible. 

Mrs.  Adams  then  asked  her  daughter,  if  she  did 
not  know  of  any  other  children  in  distress  ;  to 
which  Bella  replied,  that  she  knew  several  besides 


THE  looking-glass;  69 

and  particularly  two  in  a  neighbouring  village, 
who  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  and  who, 
without  doubt,  stood  much  in  need  of  assistance, 
her  mamma  then  reminded  her,  that  it  was  some- 
what uncharitable  to  feed  Marian  with  sweetmeats 
and  dainties,  while  other  poor  children  were  starv- 
ing with  hunger.  To  this  Bella  replied,  that  she 
hoped  she  should  have  something  to  spare  for  them 
likewise  ;  but  at  all  events  she  loved  Marian  best. 
However  her  mamma  advised  her  to  give  her 
sweet  things  seldomer,  and  instead  thereof,  some- 
thing that  would  be  of  more  use  to  her,  such  as 
an  apron  or  a  gown.  Miss  Bella  immediately  pro- 
posed to  give  her  one  of  her  frocks  ;  but  her  mam- 
ma soon  made  her  sensible  of  the  impropriety  of 
dressing  up  a  village  girl,  without  shoes  or  stock- 
ings, in  a  muslin  slip.  "  Were  I  in  your  place, 
said  her  mamma,  I  would  be  more  sparing  in  my 
amusements  for  some  time,  and  when  I  had  saved 
a  little  money,  I  would  lay  it  out  in  buying  what- 
ever was  most  necessary  for  her.  The  stuffs  that 
poor  children  wear  are  not  very  expensive,"  Bella 
followed  her  mamma's  advice.  Marian  was  not, 
indeed,  so  punctual  in  her  morning  visits,  but  Bel- 
la made  her  presents  that  were  far  more  useful 
than  sweetmeats. 

G 


70  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Miss  Bella,  besides  frequently  giving  Marian  an 
apron,a  petticoat,  or  such  like,  paid  a  certain  sum 
every  month  to  the  schoolmaster  of  the  village  to 
improve  her  in  reading.  Marian  was  so  sensible 
of  these  kindnesses  that  she  grew  every  day  more 
tenderly  fond  of  her  kind  benefactress.  She  fre- 
quently paid  her  a  visit,  and  was  never  so  happy 
as  when  she  could  do  any  little  matters  to  oblige 
her, 

Marian  came  one  day  to  the  garden  gate  to  wait 
for  Bella's  coming  down  to  her,  but  she  did  not 
come,  and  she  was  obliged  to  go  back  again  with- 
out seeing  her.  She  returned  two  days  successive- 
ly, hut  no  Bella  appeared,  which  was  a  great  af- 
fliction to  her  little  heart,  and  she  began  to  fear 
she  had  inadvertently  offended  her.  "I  have  per- 
haps, (said  she  to  herself)  done  something  to  vex 
her:  I  am  sure,  if  I  knew  I  had,  I  would  ask  her 
a  thousand  pardons,  for  I  cannot  live  without  lov- 
ing her." 

While  she  was  thus  reflecting,  one  of  Mrs.  Ad- 
ams's maids  came  out  of  the  house,  when  poor 
Marian  stopped  her,  and  asked  her  where  miss 
Bella  was.  «  Miss  Bella  !  (replied  the  woman) 
she  is  ill  of  the  small-pox  •,  so  ill,  indeed,  that 
there   are  are  no  hopes  of  her  recovery  !"  Poor 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  y1 

Marian  was  all  distraction,  and  without  considering 
what  she  did,  flew  up  stairs,  and  burst  into  Mrs. 
Adams's  room,  imploring  on  her  knees,  that  she 
might  be  permitted  to  see  her  dear  miss  Bella. 

Mrs.  Adams  would  have  stopped  Marian,  but 
the  door  being  half  open,  she  flew  to  her  bedside 
like  an  arrow  out  of  a  bow.  Poor  Bella  was  in  a 
violent  fever  alone,  and  very  low  spirited  ;  for  all 
her  little  companions  had  forsaken  her.  Marian 
drowned  in  tears,  seized  hold  of  Bella's  hand, 
squeezed  it  in  her's  and  kissed  it.  **  Ah  !  my 
dear  miss,  (said  she)  is  it  in  this  condition  that  I 
find  you !  but  you  must  not  die  ;  what  would  then 
become  of  me  ?  I  will  watch  o^er  you  and  serve 
you  !  shall  I  my  dear  miss  Bella  ?" 

Miss  Bella,  squeezing  Marian's  hand  signified 
to  her,  that  staying  with  her  would  do  her  a  great 
favour.  And  the  little  maid,  with  Mrs.  Adams's 
consent,  became  Bella's  nurse,  which  she  perform- 
ed the  part  of,  to  admiration.  She  had  a  small 
bed  made  up  for  her,  close  beside  her  little  sick, 
friend,  whom  she  never  left  for  a  moment.  If  the 
slightest  sigh  escaped  Bella,  Marian  was  up  in  an 
instant  to  know  what  she  wanted,  and  gave  her, 
with  her  own  hands,  all  her  medicines. 

This  grateful  girl  did  every  thing  she  could  to 
amuse  her  friend.     She  ransacked  Mrs.  Adams's 


72  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

library  for  books  that  had  pictures  in  them,  which 
ihe  would  shew  to  Bella  j  and  during  the  time  that 
her  eyes  were  darkened  by  her  disorder,  which 
was  for  near  a  week,  Marian  exerted  herself  to  the 
utmost  to  divert  her.  When  Hella  grew  impatient, 
at  the  want  of  sight,  Marian  told  her  stories  of 
what  happened  in  the  village  ;  and,  as  she  had 
made  a  good  use  of  her  schoolmaster's  instructions, 
she  read  whatever  she  thought  would  be  amusing 
and  diverting  to  her. 

Thus  Marian  was  not  only  her  nurse,  but  phi- 
losopher also  •,  for  she  would  sometimes  say  to  her, 
*^  God  Almighty  will  have  pity  upon  you,  as  you 
have  had  pity  upon  me.  Will  you  let  me  sing 
jOu  3  pretty  song  to  divert  you  ?"  Bella  had  only 
to  make  a  sign,  and  the  little  maid  would  sing  eve- 
ry song  she  had  learned  from  the  village  nymphs 
and  swains,  endeavouring  by  this  means  to  soften 
the  affliction  of  her  generous  friend. 

At  length  she  began  to  open  her  eyes,  her  low- 
ness  of  spirits  left  her,  the  pock  dried  up,  and  her 
appetite  returned.  Her  face  was  still  covered  with 
red  spots ;  but  Marian  looked  at  her  with  more 
pleasure  than  ever,  from  the  consideration  of  the 
danger  she  had  been  in  of  losing  her ;  while  the 
grateful  Bella  on  the  other  hand,  regarded  her 
with  equal  tenderness.     "  In  what  manner,  (slie 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  73 

would  sometimes  say,)  can  I  think  of  requiting  you 
to  my  own  satisfaction,  for  the  tender  care  you 
have  taken  of  me  ?" 

Miss  Bella,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  perfect- 
ly recovered,  asked  her  mamma  in  what  manner 
she  should  recompense  her  faithful  and  tender 
nurse  ;  but  Mrs.  Adams,  whose  joy  on  the  recove- 
ry of  her  daughter  was  inexpressible,  desired  Bella 
to  leave  that  matter  to  her,  as  she  was  likewise 
equally  in  her  debt. 

Mrs.  Adams  gave  private  orders  to  have  a  com- 
plete suit  of  clothes  made  for  Marian,  and  Bella 
desired  that  she  might  have  the  pleasure  of  dress- 
ing her  the  first  time  she  was  permitted  to  go  into 
the  garden.  The  day  arrived,  and  it  was  indeed  a 
day  of  rejoicing  throughout  the  whole  family  5  for 
Bella  was  beloved  by  all  the  servants,  as  well  as  by 
all  her  acquaintance. 

This  was  a  joyful  day  to  miss  Bella,  who  had 
the  double  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  health  restor- 
ed, and  of  beholding  her  little  friend  dressed  out 
in  her  new  clothes.  It  is  much  easier  to  conceive 
than  to  express  the  emotions  of  these  two  tender 
hearts,  when  they  again  found  themselves  in  the 
garden,  on  that  very  spot  where  their  acquaintance 
first  commenced.  They  tenderly  embraced  each 
other,  and  vowed  an  inseparable  friendship, 
G  2 


»4f  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

It  is  evidently  clear  from  the  story  of  Bella  and 
Marian,  how  advantageous  it  is  to  be  generous  and 
humane.  Had  not  Bella  by  her  kindness  attached 
Marian  to  her  interest,  she  might  have  sunk  under 
the  severe  indisposition,  from  which  the  kind  at- 
tentions, and  the  unremitting  assiduities  of  Marian, 
were  perhaps  the  chief  means  of  restoring  her. 

Friendship,  peculiar  boon  of  heaven, 

The  noble  mind's  delight  and  pride, 
To  men  and  angels  only  giv'n. 

To  all  the  lower  world  deny*d. 
While  Love,  unknown  among  the  blest> 

Parent  of  thousand  wild  desires. 
The  savage  and  the  human  breast 

Torments  alike  with  raging  lires. 
"With  bright,  but  oft  destructive  gleair;. 

Alike  o'er  all  his  lightnings  fly, 
Thy  lambent  glories  only  beam 

Around  the  fav'rites  of  the  sky  : 
Thy  gentle  flows  of  guiltless  joys 

On  fools  and  villains  ne'er  descend, 
In  vain  for  thee  the  tyrant  sighs, 

And  hugs  a  flatterer  for  a  friend. 
Directress  of  the  brave  and  just, 

O  guide  us  through  life's  darksome  ways  f 
And  let  the  tortures  of  mistrust. 

On  selfish  bosoms  only  prey. 
Nor  shall  thine  ardors  cease  to  glow, 

When  souls  to  peaceful  climes  remove; 
What  rais'd  our  virtue  here  below, 

Shall  aid  our  happiness  above. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


75' 


LITTLE  JACK. 

ONE  day,  as  Mr.  Glover  was  returning  home, 
after  taking  a  ride  over  his  estates,  and  passing  by 
the  wall  of  a  burying  ground  belonging  to  a  small 
village,  he  heard  the  sound  of  groans  and  lamen- 
tations. As  he  had  a  heart  that  was  ever  open  to 
the  distresses  of  others,  he  alighted  from  his  horse 
to  see  from  whence  the  voice  proceeded,  and  got 
over  the  enclosure. 

On  his  entering  the  place,  he  perceived  a  grave 
fresh  filled  up,  upon  which,  at  full  length,  lay  a 
child  about  &vq  years  old,  who  was  crying  sadly^ 


T6  THE  LOOKING-GXASS. 

Mr.  Glover  went  up  to  him,  and  tenderly  asked 
him  what  he  did  there.  «  I  am  calling  my  mo- 
ther, (said  he)  they  laid  her  here  yesterday,  and 
she  does  not  get  up." 

Mr.  Glover  then  told  him,  that  his  poor  mo- 
ther was  dead,  and  would  get  up  no  more.  «  I 
know,  (replied  the  poor  child)  that  they  tell  me  she 
is  dead,  but  I  do  not  believe  it.  She  was  perfectly 
well  when  she  left  me  the  other  day  with  old  Su- 
san our  neighbour ;  she  told  me  she  would  soon 
come  back,  but  she  has  not  kept  her  word.  My 
father  has  gone  away  too,  and  also  my  little  bro- 
ther -,  and  the  other  boys  of  the  village  will  not 
play  with  me,  but  say  very  naughty  things  about ^ 
my  father  and  mother  which  vexes  me  more  than 
all.     O  mammy,  get  up,  get  up." 

Mr.  Glover's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  ;  he 
asked  him  where  his  father  and  brother  were  gone 
to.  He  replied,  that  he  did  not  know  where  his 
father  was  :  and  as  to  his  little  brother,  he  was  the 
day  before  taken  to  another  town,  by  a  person 
dressed  in  black,  just  like  their  parson.  Mr.  Glo- 
ver then  asked  him  where  he  lived,  *'  "With  our 
neighbour  Susan,  said  he,  I  am  to  be  there  till  my 
mother  comes  back,  as  she  promised  me.  I  love 
my  other  mammy  Susan  very  well  !  but  I  love  my 
mammy  ti  at  lies  here  a  great  deal  better.  O  mo^ 
ther  !  laother !  why  do  you  lie  so  long  ?  When 
will  you  get  up  ?'' 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  7Y 

My  poor  child,  said  Mr.  Glover,  it  is  in  vain  to 
call  her,  for  she  will  awake  no  more  ! — "  Then, 
said  the  poor  little  boy,  I  will  lie  down  here,  and 
sleep  by  her.  Ah  !  I  saw  her  when  they  put  her 
into  a  great  chest  to  carry  her  away.  Oh,  how 
white  she  was  !  and  how  cold  I  I  will  lie  down  here 
and  sleep  by  her  !" 

The  tears  now  started  from  the  eyes  of  Mr. 
Glover,  for  he  could  no  longer  conceal  them,  but 
stooping  down^  took  the  child  up  in  his  arms,  and 
tenderly  kissed  him,  asking  him  whut  was  his  name. 
<'  When  I  am  a  good  boy,  they  call  me  Jacky,  and 
when  I  behave  amiss,  they  say,  you  Jack."  Mr. 
Glover,  though  in  tears,  could  not  help  smiling  at 
the  innocence  and  simplicity  of  this  answer,  and 
begged  Jacky  to  conduct  him  to  the  house  of  the 
good  Susan. 

The  child  very  readily  consented,  and  running 
before  him  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  con- 
ducted Mr.  Glover  to  Susan's  door.  Susan  was 
not  a  Httle  surprised,  on  seeing  Jack  conduct  a 
gentleman  into  her  cottage,  and  then  running  to 
her,  hid  his  little  head  in  her  lap,  crying,  «  This 
is  she !  this  is  my  other  mammy  !"  Mr.  Glover, 
however,  did  not  keep  her  long  in  suspense,  but 
related  to  her  what  he  had  just  seen,  and  begged 
Susan  to  give  him  the  history  of  the  parents  of 
this  little  boy.     Susan  desired  ftie  gentleman  to  be 


78  THE  LOOKING-GLASS^ 

seated,  and  then  related  to  him  the  following  par- 
ticulars : 

**  The  father  of  this  poor  child  is  a  shoe- maker, 
and  his  house  is  next  to  mine.  His  wife,  though 
a  handsome,  was  not  a  healthy  woman  j  but  she 
was  a  careful  and  good  housewife.  It  is  about  se*- 
ven  years  since  they  were  married,  always  lived  to- 
gether on  the  best  terms,  and  undoubtedly  would 
have  been  perfectly  happy,  had  their  affairs  been 
a  little  better. 

"  John  had  nothing  beyond  what  his  trade  pro- 
duced him,  and  Margaret,  his  wife,  being  left  an 
orphan,  had  only  a  little  money  which  she  had 
scraped  together  in  the  service  of  a  worthy  neigh- 
bouring curate.  With  this  they  bought  the  most 
ftecessary  articles  of  hvjsehold  furniture,  and  a 
small  stock  of  leather  to  begin  business  with.  ^How- 
ever, by  dint  of  labour  and  good  management, 
they  for  some  years  contrived  to  live  a  little  com- 
fortable. 

"  As  children  increased  so  did  their  difficulties, 
and  misfortunes  seldom  come  alone.  Poor  Mar- 
garet, who  had  daily  worked  in  the  fields  during 
hay-time,  to  bring  home  a  little  money  to  her  hus- 
band at  night,  fell  ill,  and  continued  so  all  the  har- 
vest and  winter.  John's  customers  left  him  one 
after  another,  fearing  that  work  could  not  go  on 
properly  in  a  sick  house. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  79 

*<  Though  Margaret  a^  :ast  grew  better,  yet  her 
husband's  work  continued  to  decline,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  borrow  money  to  pay  the  apothecary  ; 
while  poor  Margaret  continued  so  weakly  that  no- 
body thought  it  worth  their  while  to  employ  her. 
The  rent  of  their  house,  and  the  interest  of  the 
money  they  had  borrowed,  were  heavy  loads  upon 
them  J  and  they  were  frequently  obliged  to  en- 
dure hunger  themselves,  in  order  to  give  a  morsel 
of  bre^.d  t'.'  their  poor  children. 

<<  To  i:Jid  to  their  misfortunes,  their  hard-heart- 
ed landlord  threatened  to  put  poor  John  in  jail,  if 
he  did  not  pay  the  two  quarters  rent  that  were  due; 
and,  though  he  is  the  richest  man  in  the  place,  it 
was  with  the  greatest  difriculty  that  they  could  ob- 
tain a  month's  delay.  He  declared,  if  they  did  not 
at  the  end  of  that  time  pay  the  whole,  he  would 
sell  their  furniture,  and  put  John  in  prison.  Their 
house  was  now  a  picture  of  melancholy  and  patient 
distress.  How  often  have  I  lamented  my  inability 
to  assist  the  distresses  of  this  honest  couple  ! 

*<  I  went  myself  to  their  landlord,  and  begged  of 
him,  for  God's  sake,  to  have  some  compassion  on 
these  unfortunate  people,  and  even  offered  to 
pawn  to  him  all  I  was  possessed  of  in  the  world  ; 
but  he  treated  me  with  contempt,  and  told  me  I 
was  as  bad  as  they  were.  I  wis  obliged,  however, 
being  only  a  poor  widow,  to  bear  the  insult  with 


80  THE  LOOfClNG-GLASb. 

patience,  and  contented  myself  by  easing  my  heart 
with  a  flood  of  tears. 

«  I  advised  poor  Margaret  to  make  her  distres- 
ses known  to  the  worthy  clergyman,  with  whom 
she  had  so  long  lived  with  an  unblemished  charac- 
ter, and  to  beg  of  him  to  advance  them  a  little 'mo- 
ney, Margaret  replied,  that  she  supposed  her  hus- 
band would  not  like  that  proposal  fearing  that  their 
friend  might  suspect  their  necessities  proceeded 
from  mismanagment." 

"  It  is  but  a  few  days  ago  since  she  brought  me 
her  two  children,  and  begged  me  to  take  care  of 
them  till  the  evening.  Her  intention  was  to  go  to 
a  village  at  a  little  distance,  and  endeavour  to  get 
some  hemp  from  the  weaver  to  spin,  with  a  view 
to  get  something  towards  the  debt.  As  she  could 
not  persuade  herself  to  wait  upon  the  clergyman, 
her  husband  had  undertaken  it,  and  had  accord- 
ingly set  off  on  that  business.  As  Margaret  was 
going,  she  clasped  her  two  children  to  her  breast, 
and  kissed  them,  little  thinking  it  was  to  be  the 
last  time  she  should  ever  see  them. 

«  Soon  after  she  was  gone,  I  heard  some  noise 
in  her  house,  but  supposed  it  might  be  only  the  flap- 
ping of  the  door.  However,  the  evening  came  on 
and  my  neighbour  did  not  come  to  fetch  her  chil- 
dren as  usual.  I  therefore  determined  to  go  to 
her  house,  and  see  if  she  was  come  home.  I  found 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  8 1 

ttie  door  open,  and  went  in ;  but  how  shall  I  ex- 
press my  horror  and  astonishment,  when  I  found 
poor  Margaret  lying  dead  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  After  trying  in  vain  to  recover  her,  I  fetched 
the  surgeon,  who  shook  his  head  and  said  all  was 
over.  The  coroner's  inquest  brought  in  their  ver- 
dict Accidental  Death ;  but  as  her  husband  was 
missing  ill-natured  people  raised  suspicious  re- 
ports. Her  death,  however,  was  easily  to  be  ac- 
counted for  :  she  had  returned  to  her  house,  to 
go  up  to  the  loft  for  a  big  to  hold  her  hemp,  and, 
as  her  eyes  were  still  dimmed  with  tears,  she  had 
missed  her  step  in  coming  down,  and  fallen  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  with  her  head  foremost,  on  the 
ground.  The  bag  that  laid  by  her  side  shewed  this 
to  have  been  the  case. 

«'  I  made  an  offer  to  the  parish  oiHcers  to  keep 
the  two  children  myself,  not  doubting,  but  that 
the  goodness  of  God,  even  to  a  poor  widow  as  I 
was,  would  enable  me  to  support  them.  The 
worthy  curate  came  yesterday  to  see  the  unfortu- 
nate Margaret,  and  great  indeed  was  his  af^iction, 
when  I  related  to  him  what  I  have  been  now  tel- 
ling you,  I  then  told  him,  that  John  was  gone 
to  him  J  but  I  was  much  surprised,  when  he  declar- 
ed he  had  seen  nothing  of  him.  The  two  chil- 
dren come  up  to  him,  and  little  Jack  asked  hinij 
H 


82  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

if  he  could  not  awake  his  mother,  who  has  been 
a  long  time  asleep.  This  brought  tears  into  the 
eyes  of  the  good  curate,  who  proposed  to  take  the 
two  children  home  to  his  own  house,  and  bring 
them  up  under  his  care ;  but  as  I  could  not  con- 
sent to  part  with  both  these  innocents,  it  was  at 
Jast  agreed,  that  he  should  take  the  younger,  and 
leave  me  the  elder. 

"  He  asked  little  Jack,  if  he  should  not  like  to 
go  with  him.  "  What,  where  my  mother  is  ?  said 
Jack,  oh  1  yes,  with  all  mljl^heart  !" — <«  No,  my  lit- 
tle man,  replied  the  curate,  I  do  not  mean  there, 
but  to  my  handsome  house  and  garden." — «  No, 
no,  answered  Jack,  I  will  stay  here  with  Susan,  and 
every  day  go  to  where  my  mother  is ;  for  I  would 
rather  go  there  than  to  your  handsome  gard^.'\;» 

t*-  This  worthy  curate  did  not  choose  to  v4jt  th«  f 
child  more,  who  went  and  hid  himself  behind  my 
bed  curtains.  He  told  me  he  would  send  his  man 
for  the  younger,  wh  would  be  more  trouble  to  me 
than  the  elder  child,  and  before  he  went,  left  me 
some  money  towards  the  support  of  this. 

'*  This,  sir,  is  the  whole  uf  this  unfortunate  bu- 
siness. What  makes  me  exceedingly  uneasy  at 
present  is,  that  John  does  not  return,  and  that  it  is 
reported  in  the  parish,  that  he  has  connected  him- 
self with  a  gang  of  smugglers,  and  that  his  wife 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS,  83 

put  an  end  to  her  life  through  grief.  These  sto- 
ries have  gained  such  credit  in  the  village,  that 
tven  the  children  have  got  it ;  and  whenever  poor 
Jack  attempts  to  mix  with  them,  they  drive  him 
away  as  though  he  were  infectious.  Hence  the 
poor  little  fellow  is  quite  dull,  and  :.ow  never  goes 
out  but  to  pay  a  sad  vi^it  to  his  mother's  grave." 

Mr.  Glover,  who  had  silently  listened  to  this 
melancholy  tale,  was  deeply  affected  by  it.  Little 
Jack  was  now  got  close  up  to  Susan,  he  looked  at 
her  with  fondness,  and  olfcen  called  her  his  mother. 
Mr.  Glover  at  length  broke  silence,  and  told  Su- 
san she  was  a  worthy  woman,  and  that  God  would 
not  fail  to  reward  her  for  her  generosity  towards 
this  unfortunate  family. 

;  "  Ah  !"  said  Susan,  <«I  am  happy  in  what  I  have; 
done^'  and  I  wish  I  could  have  done  niore'Vbut 
my  only  possession  consists  in  my  cottage,  a  little 
garden,  in  which  I  have  a  few  greens,  and  what  I 
can  earn  by  the  labour  of  my  hands.  Yet  for  these 
eight  years  that  I  have  been  a  widow,  God  has  not 
suffered  me  to  want,  and  I  trust  he  never  will." 

Mr.  Glover  reminded  her,  that  keeping  this  lit- 
tle boy  must  be  very  inconvenient  to  her,  and  that 
she  would  find  it  difficult  to  supply  him  with 
clothes.  She  answered,  *■  I  leave  the  care  of  that 
to  him  who  clothes  the  fields  with  grass,  and  the 


S4  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

trees  with  leaves.  He  has  given  me  fingers  to 
sew  and  spin,  and  they  shall  work  to  clothe  my 
poor  little  orphan.  I  will  never  part  with  him." 
Mr.  Glover  was  astonished  at  this  good  woman's 
resolution.  I  must  not  suffer  you  alone,  said  he, 
to  have  all  the  honour  of  befriending  this  poor  or- 
phan, since  God  has  bestowed  on  me  those  bless- 
ings of  affluence  which  you  do  not  enjoy.  Permit 
me  to  take  care  of  the  education  of  this  sweet  boy  ; 
and  since  I  find  you  cannot  live  sepat-ate,  I  will  take 
you  both  home  with  me, 4nd  provide  for  you.  Sell 
your  cottage  and  garden,  and  make  my  house  your 
own,  where  you  may  spend  the  remainder  of  your 
life  amidst  peace  and  plenty." 

Susan  gave  Mr.  Glover  a  most  afFectionate  look,  , 
but  begged  he  would  excuse  her  accepting  his  of- 
fer,  as  she  was  fond  of  the  spot  on  which  she  was 
born,  and  had  lived  so  long.  Besides,  she  added, 
she  could  not  suit  herself  to  the  bustle  of  a  great 
house,  and  should  soon  grow  sick,  were  she  to  live 
upon  dainties  in  idleness.  «  If  you  please,  contin- 
ued Susan,  now  and  then  to  send  him  a  small  mat- 
ter to  pay  for  his  schooling,  and  to  supply  him  with  % 
tools  when  he  shall  take  to  business,  God  will  not 
fail  to  reward  you  for  your  bounty.  As  I  have  no 
child,  he  shall  be  as  one  to  me,  and  whatever  X 
possess  shall  be  his  at  my  death." 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  ^5 

Mr.  Glover,  finding  she  did  not  choose  to  quit 
her  habitation,  told  her  he  sliould  every  month 
send  her  what  vp-ould  be  sufficient  for  her  support, 
and  that  he  would  sometimes  come  and  see  them 
himself.  Susan  lifted  up  her  hands  to  heaven,  and 
bid  Jackey  go  and  ask  the  gentleman's  blessing, 
which  he  did.  He  then  threw  down  his  purse  on 
the  table,  bid  them  farewell,  and  mounting  his 
horse,  took  the  road  that  led  to  the  parish  in  which 
the  worthy  curate  lived. 

On  Mr.  Glover's  arrival  there,  he  found  the 
worthy  curate  reading  a  letter  on  which  he  had 
shed  some  tears.  He  explained  the  cause  of  his 
visit  to  this  worthy  divine,  and  asked  him  if  he 
knew  what  was  become  of  the  father  of  the  two  lit- 
tle unfortunate  children.  The  curate  replied,  that 
it  was  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  since  he  received  a 
letter  from  him  to  his  wife.  "  It  was,  said  the  cu° 
rate,  enclosed  in  one  to  me,  and  contains  a  small 
draft  for  the  use  of  his  wife  j  he  requests  me  to  de- 
liver it  to  her,  and  console  her  for  his  absence.  As 
she  is  dead,  I  have  opened  the  letter,  and  here  it 
is :  be  so  kind  as  to  read  it."  Mr.  Glover  took 
the  letter,  the  particulars  of  which  were  as  follow : 
He  hoped  his  wife  would  not  give  herself  any 
uneasiness  on  account  of  his  absence.  As  he  was 
going  to  the  clergyman's  house,  he  began  to  think, 
H2 


86  '  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

that  it  could  be  of  no  use  to  go  thus  a  begging,  and 
if  he  should  borrow  money,  he  was  not  sure  he 
should  be  able  to  pay  it,  which  he  thought  would 
be  as  bad  as  thieving.  At  this  instant  a  thought 
struck  into  his  head,  that  he  was  young  and  hearty, 
stout  and  able-bodied,  and  therefore  could  see  no 
harm  in  entering  on  board  a  man  of  war  for  a  few 
years,  where  he  might  stand  a  chance  of  getting  a 
fortune  for  his  wife  and  children,  at  least  enough 
to  pay  all  his  debts.  While  he  was  thinking  of  this 
matter  a  press  gang  came  up,  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  enter,  telling  him  that  they  would  give  him 
five  pounds  bounty.  The  thought  of  receiving  five 
pounds,  fixed  his  determination  at  once,  and  he 
accordingly  entered,  received  the  money,  and  sent 
every  farthing  to  his  wife,  with  his  love  and  bless- 
ing, hoping  that  they  would  all  join  in  their  pray- 
ers to  God  for  him.  He  hoped  the  war  W^mld 
soon  be  over,  and  that  he  should  then  return  with 
inexpressible  joy  to  his  dear  wife. 

Mr.  Glover's  eyes  swimmed  with  tears  all  the 
time  he  was  reading  the  letter.  When  he  had 
finished  it,  "  This  man  (said  he)  may  indeed  justly 
be  called  a  good  husband,  a  tender  father,  and  an 
honest  man.  There  is  an  expressive  pleasure  in 
being  a  friend  to  such  characters  as  these.  I  will 
pay  John's  debts,  and  enable  him  to  take  up  his 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  87 

trade  again.  Let  his  money  be  kept  for  the  chil- 
dren, to  be  divided  between  them,  as  soon  as  they 
shall  be  at  an  age  to  know  how  to  make  use  of  it, 
and  I  will  add  something  to  this  sacred  deposit." 

So  greatly  was  the  worthy  curate  affected,  that 
he  could  make  no  reply  -,  and  Mr  Glover  perfect- 
ly understanding  the  cause  of  his  silence,  squeezed 
him  by  the  hand,  and  took  his  leave  *,  but  he  com- 
pletely accompHshed  all  his  designs  in  favour  of 
John,  who  at  length  returned,  and  enjoyed  an  ea- 
siness of  circumstances  beyond  any  thing  he  had 
before  experienced. 

Nothing  now  disturbed  John's  felicity,  but  the 
sorrowful  reflection  of  having  lost  his  dear  Marga- 
ret ;  she  had  experienced  part  of  his  misfortunes, 
but  had  not  lived  to  share  in  his  felicity ;  and  John's 
only  consolation  is  perpetually  to  talk  about  her  to 
Susan,  whom  he  looks  upon  as  a  sister  to  him,  and 
as  a  mother  to  his  children.  Little  Jack  frequent- 
ly visits  his  mother's  grave  *,  and  has  made  so  good 
a  use  01  Mr.  Glover's  generosity,  in  improving  him- 
self, that  this  excellent  gentleman  intends  placing 
him  in  a  very  desirable  situation.  John's  younger 
son  has  likewise  a  share  in  his  favours  ;  and  when- 
ever Mr.  Glover's  mind  is  oppressed,  a  visit  to  vhis 
spot,  where  such  an  affecting  scene  passed,  and 
where  he  has  been  enabled  to  do  so  much  good,  ne- 
ver fails  to  raise  his  spirits. 


S8  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

My  young  readers  will  from  hence  learn,  that 
God  always  assists  those  who  put  their  trust  in  him. 
It  is  on  him  we  must  rely  on  every  occasion,  and 
he  will  not  desert  us,  provided  we  ourselves  also 
try  to  surmount  difficulties  by  patience  and  indus- 
try. 

Hail,  lovely  pow'r  !  whose  bosom  heaves  a  sigh, 
When  fancy  paints  the  scene  of  deep  distress ; 

Whose  tears  spontaneous  chrystalize  the  eye, 
When  rigid  fate  denies  the  powV  to  bless. 

Not  all  the  sweets  Arabia's  gales  convey 

From  flow'ry  meads,  can  with  that  sight  compare ; 
Not  dew-drops  glitt'ring  in  the  morning  ray. 
Seem  ne'er  so  beauteous  as  the  falling  tear. 

Teach  me  to  sooth  the  helpless  orphan's  grief ! 

With  timely  aid  the  widow's  woes  assuage  j^i^ 
To  misery's  moving  cries  to  yield  relief, 

And  be  the  sure  resource  of  drooping  age. 

So  when  the  verdant  spring  of  youth  shall  fade, 
And  sinking  nature  owns  the  dread  decay, 

Some  soul  congenial  then  may  lend  its  aid, 
And  gild  the  close  of  life's  eventful  day. 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 


89 


LEONORA  AND    ADOLPHUS. 


A  YOUNG  widow  lady,  whose  name  was  Le* 
nox,  had  two  children  equally  deserving  the  affec- 
tions of  a  parent,  which  however,  were  unequally 
shared.  Adolphus  was  the  favourite,  which  Leo- 
nora very  early  began  to  discover,  and  consequently 
felt  no  small  share  of  uneasiness  on  the  occasion  ; 
but  she  was  prudent  enough  to  conceal  her  sorrow. 


90  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Leonora,  though  not  remarkably  handsome, 
had  a  mind  that  made  ample  amends  for  the  want  of 
beauty  :  but  her  brother  was  a  little  cupid,  on  whom 
Mi-s.  Lenox  lavished  all  her  kisses  and  caresses.  It 
is  no  wonder  that  the  servants,  to  gain  the  favour 
of  their  mistress,  were  very  attentive  to  humour 
him  in  all  his  whimsies.  Leonora,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  consequently  slighted  by  every  one  in 
the  house  ;  and,  so  far  from  wishing  to  study  her 
humour,  they  scarcely  treated  her  with  common 
civility. 

Finding  herself  frequently  alone  and  neglected, 
and  taken  little  notice  of  by  any  one,  she  would 
privately  shed  a  torrent  of  tears  ;  but  she  always 
took  care,  that  not  the  least  mark  of  discontent 
should  escape  her  in  the  presence  of  any  one.  Her 
constant  attention  to  the  observance  of  her  duty, 
her  mildness,  and  endeavours  to  convince  her  mo- 
ther, her  mind  was  superior  to  her  face,  had  no  ef- 
fect i  for  beauty  alone  attracts  the  attention  of 
those,  who  examine  no  further  than  external  ap- 
pearances. 

Mrs.  Lenox,  who  was  continually  chiding  Leo- 
nora, and  expecting  from  her  perfections  far  be- 
yond the  reach  of  those  more  advanced  in  years, 
at  last  fell  sick.  Adolphus  seemed  very  sorry  for 
his  mother's  illness ;  but  Leonora,  with  the  softest 


( 


THE  looking-glass;  91 

looks  and  most  languishing  countenance,  fancied 
she  perceived  in  her  mother  an  abatement  of  her 
accustomed  rigour  towards  her,  and  far  surpassed 
her  brother  in  her  attention  to  her  parent.  She 
endeavoured  to  supply  her  slightest  wants,  exerted 
all  her  penetration  to  discover  them,  that  she  might 
even  spare  her  the  pain  of  asking  for  any  thing, 
so  long  as  her  mother's  illness  had  the  least  ap- 
pearance of  d:in^er,  she  never  quitted  her  pillow, 
and  neither  threats  nor  commands  could  prevail  on 
her  to  take  the  least  repose. 

Mrs.  Lenox,  however,  at  length  recovered, 
which  afforded  inexpressible  pleasure  to  the  ami- 
able Leonora;  but  she  soon  experienced  a  renewal 
of  her  misfortunes,  as  her  mother  began  to  treat 
her  with  her  usual  severity  and  indifference. 

As  Mrs.  Lenox  was  one  day  talking  to  her  chil- 
dren on  the  pain  she  had  suffered  during  her  ill- 
ness, and  were  praising  them  for  the  anxiety  they 
had  shewn  on  her  account,  she  desired  them  to  ask 
of  her  whatever  they  thought  would  be  the  most 
pleasing  to  them,  and  they  <^hould  certainly-  be  in- 
dulged in  it,  provided  their  demands  were  not 
unreasonable. 

First  addressing  herself  to  Adolphus,  she  desired 
to  know  what  he  would  choose  ;  and  his  desire  was 
to  have  a  cane  and  a  watch,  which  his  mother  pro- 


92  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

mised  he  should  have  next  morning.  "  And  pray, 
Leonora,  said  Mrs.  Lenox,  what  is  your  wish  •* — 
"  Me,  mamma,  me  !  (answered  she  trembHng)  if 
you  do  but  love  me  I  have  nothing  else  to  wish 
for  !" — t^That  is  not  an  answer,  replied  her  mo- 
ther ;  you  shall  have  your  recompence  likewise, 
miss  ;  therefore  speak  your  wish  instantly." 

However  accustomed  Leonora  might  have  been 
to  this  severe  tone,  yet  she  felt  it  on  this  occasion 
more  sensibly  than  ever  she  had  before.  She 
threw  herself  at  her  mother's  feet,  looked  up  to  her 
with  eyes  swimming  in  tears,  and  instantly  hiding 
her  face  with  both  her  hands,  lisped  out  these 
words  :  "  Only  give  me  two  kisses,  such  as  you  give 
my  brother." 

What  heart  could  fail  to  relent  at  these  words  ? 
Mrs.  Lenox  felt  all  the  tender  sentiments  of  a  pa* 
rent  arise  in  her  heart,  and  taking  her  up  in  her 
arms,  she  clasped  her  to  her  breast,  and  loaded 
her  with  kisses.  The  sweet  Leonora,  who  now, 
for  the  first  time  received  her  mother's  caresses, 
gave  way  to  the  effusion  of  her  joy  and  love  j  she 
kissed  her  cheeks,  her  eyes,  her  breasts  and  her 
hands  -,  Adolphus,  who  loved  his  sister,  mixed  his 
embraces  with  hers.  Thus  all  had  a  share  in  this 
scene  of  unexpected  happiness. 

The  affection  which  Mrs.  Lenox  had  so  long 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  93 

withheld  from  Leonora,  she  now  repaid  with  in- 
terest, and  her  daughter  returned  it  with  the  most 
dutiful  attention.  Adolphus,  so  far  from  being 
jealous  at  this  change  of  his  mother's  affection  for 
his  sister,  showed  every  mark  of  pleasure  on  the 
occasion,  and  he  afterwards  reaped  a  reward  of  so 
generous  a  conduct ;  for  his  natural  disposition  hav- 
ing been,  in  some  measure,  injured  by  the  too 
great  indulgence  of  his  mother,  he  gave  way  in  his 
early  days  to  those  little  indiscretions,  which  would 
have  lost  him  the  heart  of  his  parent,  had  not  his 
sister  stepped  in  between  them.  It  was  to  the  ad- 
vice of  this  amiable  girl  that  Adolphus  at  last  owed 
his  entire  reformation  of  manners.  They  all  three 
then  experienced,  that  true  happiness  cannot  exist 
in  a  family,  unless  the  most  perfect  union  between 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  the  most  lively  and  equal 
affection  between  parents  and  children,  are  con- 
".tantly  and  strictly  adhered  to. 

The  shape  alone  let  others  prize, 

The  features  of  the  fair  ; 
I  look  tor  spirit  in  her  eyes, 

And  meaning  in  her  air. 

A  damask  cheek,  and  ivory  arm, 
Shall  ne'er  my  wishes  win  : 
I 


04-  THE   LOOKINC-GLASS. 

Give  me  an  animated  form 
That  speaks  a  mind  within. 

A  face  where  awful  honour  shines. 
Where  sense  and  sweetness  move, 

And  angel  innocence  refines 
The  tenderness  of  love. 

These  are  the  soul  of  beauty's  frame, 
Without  whose  vital  aid 

Unfinished  all  her  features  seem, 
And  all  her  roses*  dead. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


95 


FLORA  AND  HER  LITTLE  LAMB. 


A  POOR  countryman's  little  daughter,  whose 
name  was  Flora,  was  one  morning  sitting  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  holding  on  her  lap  a  pan  of  milk 
for  her  brjeakfast,  into  which  she  was  breaking 
some  bits  of  coarse  black  bread. 

While  Flora  was  thus  busily  employed  at  her 
breakfast,  a  farmer  was  passing  the  road  with  his 
cart  in  which  were  about  twenty  lambs,  and  these 
he  was  going  to  carry  to  the  market  for  sale. 
These  pretty  little  lambs  were  tied  together  like  sg 


96      ,  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

many  criminals,  and  lay  with  their  legs  fastened 
with  cords,  and  their  heads  hanging  down.  Their 
plaintive  bleatings  pierced  the  heart  of  poor  Flora, 
but  they  had  no  manner  of  effect  on  the  hard- 
hearted farmer. 

As  soon  as  he  came  op^site  to  the  place  where 
little  Flora  was  sitting,  he  threw  down  to  her  a 
lamb,  which  he  was  carrying  across  his  shoulder, 
saying,  <«  There,  my  girl,  is  a  poor  sorry  creature 
that  has  just  died,  and  made  me  some  shillings  poor- 
er than  I  was.  You  may  take  it,  if  you  will,  and 
do  what  you  like  with  it." 

Flora  put  down  her  milk  and  bread,  and  taking 
up  the  lamb,  viewed  it  with  looks  of  tenderness 
and  compassion.  «<  But  why  should  I  pity  you  ? 
(said  she  to  the  lamb.)  Either  this  day  or  to-morrow 
they  would  have  run  a  great  knife  through  your 
throat,  whereas  now  you  have  nothing  to  fear." 

Whilst  she  was  thus  speaking,  the  warmth  of  her 
arms  somewhat  revived  the  lamb,  who  opening  its 
eyes  a  little,  made  a  slight  motion,  and  cried  baa 
in  a  very  low  tone,  as  if  it  were  calling  for  its  mo- 
ther. It  would  be  impossible  to  express  little  Flo- 
ra's joy  on  this  occasion.  She  covered  the  lamb  in 
her  apron,  and  over  that  put  her  stuff  petticoat ; 
sh?  then  bent  her  breast  down  towards  her  lap,  in 


THE  LOOKlNG-GLASi,  97 

order  to  increase  the  warmth,  and  blew  into  its 
mouth  and  nostrils  with  all  the  force  she  could.  By- 
degrees,  the  poor  animal  began  to  stir,  and  every 
motion  it  made  conveyed  joy  to  her  little  heart. 

This  success  encouraged  her  to  proceed  :  she 
crumbled  some  of  her  b%ad  into  her  pan,  and  tak- 
ing it  up  in  her  fingers,  she  with  no  small  difficul- 
ty forced  it  between  its  teeth,  which  were  very 
firmly  closed  together.  The  lamb  whose  only  dis- 
order was  hunger  and  fatigue,  began  to  feel  the 
effects  of  this  nourishment.  It  first  began  to 
stretch  out  its  limbs,  then  to  shake  its  head,  wag 
its  tail,  and -at  last  to  prick  up  its  ears.  In  a  little 
time  it  was  able  to  stand  upon  its  legs,  and  then 
went  off  itself  to  Flora's  breakfast  pan,  who  was 
highly  delighted  to  see  it  take  such  pleasing  liberties ; 
for  she  cared  not  a  farthing  about  losing  her  own 
breakfast  since  it  saved  the  life  of  the  little  lamb. 
In  short,  in  a  little  time  it  recovered  its  usual 
strength,  and  began  to  skip  and  play  about  hen 
kind  deliverer. 

It  may  naturally  be  supposed,  that  Flora  was 
greatly  pleased  at  this  unexpected  success.  She 
took  it  up  in  her  arms,  and  ran  with  it  to  the  cot- 
tage to  shew  it  to  her  mother.  HerBaba,  for  so 
Flora  called  it,  became  the  first  object  of  her  cares, 
and  it  constantly  shared  with  her  in  her  little  al^ 
12 


98  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

iowance  of  bread  and  milk,  which  she  received  for 
her  meals.  Indeed  so  fond  was  she  of  it,  that  she 
would  not  have  exchanged  it  for  a  whole  flock. 
Nor  was  Baba  insensible  of  the  fondness  of  her  lit- 
tle mistress,  since  she  would  follow  her  wherever 
she  went,  would  come  iHd  eat  out  of  her  hand, 
skip  and  frisk  round  her,  and  would  bleat  most 
piteously,  whenever  Flora  was  obliged  to  leave  her 
at  home. 

Baba,  however,  repaid  the  services  of  her  little 
mistress  in  a  more  substantial  manner,  than  that 
of  merely  dancing  about  her  ;  for  she  brought 
forth  young  lambs,  those  lambs  grew  up,  and 
brought  forth  others  j  so  that,  within  the  space  of 
a  few  years,  Flora  had  a  very  capital  stock,  that 
furnished  the  whole  family  with  food  and  raiment. 
Such,  my  little  readers,  are  the  rewards  which 
Providence  bestows  on  acts  of  goodness,  tender- 
ness, and  humanity. 

Wide  as  the  sun  his  bright  dominion  spreads, 
Heav'n-born  benevolence  her  bounty  sheds. 
She,  meek-eyed  goddess,  quits  th'  angelic  sphere, 
To  banish  gi  ief,  and  dry  the  human  tear. 

Plenty's  rich  urn  her  willing  arm  sustain. 
Life,  hope,  and  joy,  exulting  in  her  train. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  99 

Her  ear  is  open  to  the  orphan's  cry, 
Her  soul  expanding  as  the  poor  pass  by. 

From  her  bless'd  tongue  the  words  of  manna  flow, 
And  carry  courage  to  desponding  woe, 
Objects  of  aid  she  seeks  through  all  the  land, 
Diffusing  bounty  with  a  Saviour's  hand. 

Thro'  prison  bars  she  darts  a  pitying  eye. 
Her  heart,  responsive,  echoes  sigh  for  sigh  : 
Nor  scorifs  she  ev'n  the  malefactor's  chain  : 
She  mourns  his  guilt — but  mitigates  his  pain. 

The  wretch  she  asks  not,  in  what  climate  bred^ 
To  what  profession  or  religion  wed  ; 
That's  not  the  subject  of  her  mis-sion  there— 
To  succour  all  who  want,  is  all  her  care. 

These  are,  O  bright  Benevolence,  thy  ways. 
And  these  the  solid  basis  of  thy  praise  ! 
When  Csesar's  fame,  and  Marlbro's  deeds  are  past, 
Th'  effects  of  thy  philanthropy  shall  last. 

In  nature's  wreck,  the  juster  fates  shall  see 
Distinguished  worth  ;  and  fix  their  eyes  on  thee  : 
A  preference  far  thy  honest  heart  shall  find, 
Before  the  proud  destroyers  of  mankind. 

Their  lapsing  honours  shall  forbear  to  save  : 
But  thy  blest  name  shall  triumph  o'er  the  grave. 


loa 


THE   LOOKING-GLA33. 


THE  FRUITFUL  VINE. 


IT  was  in  the  beginning  of  the  spring,  when 
Mr.  Jackson  went  to  his  country  house,  and  took 
with  him  his  little  son  Junius,  in  order  to  treat 
him'  with  a  walk  in  the  garden.  The  primroses 
and  violets  were  then  displaying  all  their  beauties, 
and  many  trees  had  began  to  shew  what  liverjr 
they  were  soon  to  wear. 

After  walking  some  time  about  the  garden,  they 
happened  to  go  into  the  summer-house,  at  the  foot 
of  which  grew  the  stump  of  a  vine,  which  twisted 
wildly,  and  extended  its  naked  branches  in  a  rude 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  101 

and  irregular  manner.  As  soon  as  little  Junius  saw 
this  tree,  he  exclaimed  sadly  against  the  ugly  ap- 
pearance it  made,  and  began  to  exert  all  his 
strength  to  pull  it  up,  but  he  found  his  efforts  in 
vain,  it  being  too  well  rooted  to  yield  to  his  weak 
arm.  He  begged  his  papa  to  call  the  gardener  to 
grub  it  up,  and  make  fire-wood  of  it ;  but  Mr. 
Jackson  desired  his  son  to  let  the  tree  alone,  tell- 
ing him  that  he  would,  in  a  few  months,  give  him 
his  reasons  for  not  complying  with  his  request. 

This  did  not  satisfy  Junius,  who  desired  his  fa- 
ther to  look  at  those  lively  crocusses,  and  snow- 
drops, saying,  he  could  not  see  why  that  barren 
stump  should  be  kept,  which  did  not  produce  a 
single  green  leaf.  He  thought  it  spoiled  and  dis- 
figured the  garden,  and  therefore  begged  his  fa- 
ther would  permit  him  to  fetch  the  gardener  to 
pluck  it  up. 

Mr.  Jackson,  who  could  not  think  of  granting 
him  his  request,  told  him,  that  it  must  stand  as  it 
then  was,  at  least  for  some  time  to  come.  Lfttle 
Junius  still  persisted  in  his  entreaties,  urging  how 
disgraceful  it  was  to  the  garden  j  but  his  father 
diverted  his  attention  from  the  vine,  by  turning 
the  conversation. 

It  so  happened,  that  Mr.  Jackson's  affairs  call- 
ed him  to  a  different  part  of  the  country,  froni 


102  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

whence  he  did  not  return  till  the  middle  of  ai> 
tumn.  He  no  sooner  came  home,  than  he  paid 
a  visit  to  his  country  house,  taking  little  Junius 
with  him.  As  the  day  happened  to  be  exceed- 
ingly warm,  they  retired  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of 
the  shade,  and  entered  the  arbour,  in  which  the 
vine  stump  had  before  so  much  offended  his  son 
Junius. 

'<  Ah  !  papa,  said  the  young  gentleman,  how 
charming  and  delightful  is  this  greeh  shade  !  I 
am  much  obliged  to  you  for  having  that  dry  and 
ugly  stump  plucked  up,  which  I  found  so  much 
fault  with  when  we  were  here  last,  and  for  putting 
in  its  place  this  beautiful  plant ;  I  suppose  vou 
did  it  in  order  to  give  me  an  agreeable  surprisCj 
How  delightful  and  tempting  the  fruit  looks  f 
What  fine  grapes  !  some  purple,  and  others  almost 
black.  I  see  no  tree  in  the  garden  that  looks  in 
so  blooming  a  state.  All  have  lost  their  fruit ; 
but  this  fine  one  seems  in  the  highest  perfection. 
See  how  it  is  loaded  !  See  those  wide  spreading 
leaves  that  hide  the  clusters.  If  the  fruit  be  as 
good  as  it  appears  beautiful,  it  must  be  delicious." 

Little  Junius  was  in  raptures  when  he  tasted  one 
of  the  grapes,  which  his  father  gave  him  ;  and 
still  more  when  he  informed  him  that  from  such 
fruit   was   made   that  delicious  liquor,  which  h<5 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  103 

sometimes  tasted  after  dinner.  The  little  fellow 
was  quite  astonished  on  hearing  his  father  talk 
thus  •,  but  he  was  far  more  surprised,  when  Mr. 
Jackson  told  him,  that  all  those  fine  leaves  and 
delicious  fruit,  grew  from  that  very  crooked  and 
mishapen  stump,  with  which  he  had  been  so  an- 
gry in  the  spring.  His  father  then  asked  him,  if 
he  should  now  order  the  gardener  to  pluck  it  up, 
and  make  fire-wood  of  it.  Junius  was  much  con- 
fused ;  but  after  a  short  silence,  told  his  papa, 
that  he  would  rather  see  every  other  tree  in  the 
garden  cut  down  than  that,  so  beautiful  were  its 
leaves,  and  so  delicious  its  fruit. 

As  Mr.  Jackson  was  a  man  of  good  sense,  he 
thus  moralized  on  this  occasion,  "  You  see  then 
my  dear,  said  he,  how  imprudently  I  should  have 
acted  had  I  followed  your  advice,  and  cut  down 
this  tree.  Daily  experience  convinces  us,  that  the 
same  'hing  happens  frequently  in  the  commerce 
of  this  world,  which  has  in  this  instance  misled  you. 
When  we  see  a  child  badly  clothed,  and  of  an  un- 
pleasing  external  appearance,  we  are  too  apt  to 
despise  him,  and  grow  conceited  on  comparing 
ourselves  with  him  ;  and  sometimes  even  go  so  far 
as  cruelly  to  address  him  in  haughty  and  insulting 
language.  But  beware  my  dear  boy,  how  you 
run  into  errors  by  forming  a  too  hasty  judgment. 
It  is  possible,  that  in  a  person  so  little  favoured 


104?  TIIE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

by  nature,  may  dwell  an  exalted  soul,  which  may 
one  day  astonish  the  world  with  the  greatness  of 
its  virtues,  or  enlighten  it  with  knowledge.  The 
most  rugged  stem  may  produce  the  most  delicious 
fruit,  while  the  straight  and  stately  plant  may  be 
worthless  and  barren. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew  trees  shade. 

Where    heaves    the  turf  in  many  a  mould'ring 
heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid 
.    The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 
Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield ; 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke  : 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  teams  afield  ! 

How  bow'd  the  woods  beneaththeirsturdystroker 
Let  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  j 
Nor  grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile. 

The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 
The  boast  of  Heraldry,  the  pomp  of  powV, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour  ; 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 
Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene. 

The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear  5 
Full  many  a  flowV  is  born  to  blush  unseen. 

And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 


rriE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


105* 


3Ky^^4 


^'IR  JOHN  DENHAM  AND  HIS  WORTHY  TENANT* 

ONE  morning,  Sir  John  Denham  having  shut 
iiiniselfupin  his  study  on  some  particular  business, 
his  servant  came  to  inform  him,  that  one  of  his  te- 
nants, farmer  Harris,  desired  to  speak  with  him. 
Sir  John  told  him  to  shew  the  farmer  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  to  beg  him  to  stay  one  moment, 
until  he  had  finished  writing  a  letter. 

Sir  John  had  three  children,  Robert,  Arthur, 
and  Sophia,  who  were  in  the  drawing  room  when 
the  farnler  was  introduced.     As  soon  as  he  enter- 
ed he  saluted  them  very  respectfully,  though  no' 
K 


•i06  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

with  the  grace  of  a  dancing  master,  nor  were  his 
compHments  very  elegantly  turned.  The  two  sons 
looked  at  each  other  with  a  smile  of  contempt  and 
disrespect.  Indeed  they  behaved  in  such  a  man. 
ner,  that  the  poor  farmer  blushed,  and  was  quite 
out  of  countenance. 

Robert  was  so  shamefully  impertinent  as  to  walk 
round  him,  holding  his  nose,  and  asked  his  brother, 
if  he  did  not  perceive  something  of  the  smell  of  a 
dung-heap  ?  then  he  lighted  some  paper  at  the  fire, 
and  carried  it  round  the  room,  in  order  to  disperse, 
as  he  said  the  unpleasant  smell.  Arthur  all  ihe 
while  stood  laughing  most  heartily. 

Sophia  however  acted  in  a  very  different  man- 
ner :  for  instead  of  imitating  the  rudeness  of  her 
brothers,  she  checked  them  for  their  behaviour, 
made  apologies  for  them  to  the  farmer,  and  ap- 
proaching him  with  the  most  complaisant  looks, 
offered  him  some  wine  to  refresh  him,  made  him 
sit  down,  and  took  from  him  his  hat  and  stick  to 
put  by. 

In  a  little  time,  Sir  John  came  out  of  his  study 
and  approaching  the  farmer  in  a  friendly  manner, 
took  him  by  the  hand,  enquired  after  the  health  of 
his  family,  and  asked  him  what  had  brought  him 
to  town*     The  farmer  replied  that  he  was  come 


THE  LOOKING-GLAS.S.  107 

to  pay  him  half  a  year's  rent,  and  that  he  hoped  he 
would  not  be  displeased  at  his  not  coming  sooner 
the  roads  having  been  so  bad  that  he  could  not 
till  then  carry  his  corn  to  market. 

Sir  John  told  him  he  was  not  displeased  at  his 
not  coming  sooner,  because  he  knew  him  to  be 
an  honest  man,  who  had  no  occasion  to  be  put  in 
mind  of  his  debts.  The  farmer  then  put  down  the 
money,  and  drew  out  of  his  great  coat  pocket  ajar 
of  candied  fruits.  I  have  brought  something  here, 
said  he,  for  the  young  folks.  Won't  you  be  so 
kind,  Sir  John,  as  to  let  them  come  out  one  of 
these  days,  and  take  a  mouthful  of  the  country  air 
.with  us  ?  Fd  try,  as  well  as  I  could  to  entertain  and 
amuse  them.  I  .have  two  good  stout  nags,  and 
would  come  for  them  myself,  and  take  them  down 
in  my  four  wheeled  chaise,  which  will  carry  them 
very  safely  I'll  warrant  it. 

Sir  John  said,  that  he  would  certainly  take  an 
opportunity  to  pay  him  a  visit,  and  invited  him  to 
stay  to  dinner ;  but  the  farmer  excused  himself 
saying,  he  had  a  good  deal  of  business  to  do  in  town, 
and  wished  to  get  home  before  night.  Sir  John  fill- 
ed his  pocket  with  cakes  for  his  children,  thanked 
him  for  the  present  he  had  made  to  his,  and  thea 
took  leave  of  him. 


108  THE  LOOKING-GLA33. 

No  sooner  was  the  farmer  gone,  than  Sophia,  in 
the  presence  of  her  brothers,  acquainted  her  paf» 
of  the  very  rude  reception  they  had  given  to  the 
hon*t  farmer.  Sir  John  was  exceedingly  displeas- 
ed at  their  conduct,  and  much  applauded  Sophia 
for  her  different  behaviour. 

Sir  Jolin  being  seated  at  breakfast  with  his  chil- 
dren, opened  the  farmer's  jar  of  fruit,  and  h^  and 
his  daughter  ate  some  of  them,  which  they  thought 
were  very  nice ;  but  Robert  and  Arthur  were  nei- 
ther of  them  invited  to  a  single  taste.  Their  long- 
ing eyes  were  fixed  upon  them  ;  but  their  father, ^ 
instead  of  taking  any  notice  of  them,  continued 
con  versing  with  Sophia,  whom  he  advised  never  to 
despise  a  person  merely  for  the  plainness  of  his 
dress ;  "  for,  said  he,  were  we  to  behave  politely  to 
those  only  who  are  finely  clothed,  we  should  ap- 
pear to  direct  our  attention  more  to  the  dress  than 
to  the  wearer.  The  most  worthy  people  are  fre- 
quently found  under  the  plainest  dress>  and  of  this 
we  have  an  example  in  farmer  Harris.  It  is  this 
man  who  helps  to  clothe  you,  and  also  to  procure 
you  a  proper  education,  for  the  money  that  he 
;md  my  other  tenants  bring  me  enables  me  to  do 
these  things." 

Breakfast  being  finished,  the  remainder  of  tlae 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  113 

Robert  blushed,  and  seemed  at  a  loss  what  an- 
swer to  make  j  but  at  length  replied  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  receive  them  well,  as  he  got  his  living 
ofF their  lands.  *«  That  is  true,  (answered  Sir  John) 
but  it  may  be  easily  seen  who  draws  the  greatest 
profit  from  my  lands,  the  farmer  or  I.  He  in-  ieed 
feeds  his  horses  with  hay  which  he  gets  off  my 
meadows,  but  his  horses  in  return  plow  the  fields, 
which  otherwise  would  be  overrun  with  weeds. 
He  also  feeds  his  cows  and  his  sheep  with  the  hay ; 
but  their  dung  is  useful  in  giving  fertility  to  the 
ground.  His  wife  and  children  are  fed  with  the 
harvest  corn  ;  but  they  in  return  devote  the  sum- 
mer to  weeding  the  crops  ;  and  afterwards,  soq^e 
in  reaping  them  and  some  in  threshing.  All  these* 
labours  end  in  my  advantage.  The  rest  of  the  hay 
and  corn  he  takes  to  market  to  sell,  and  with  the 
produce  thereof  he  pays  his  rent,  from  this  it  is 
evident,  who  derives  the  greatest  profit  from  my 
lands 

Here  a  long  pause  ensued ;  but  at  last,  Robert 
confessed  that  he  saw  his  error.  **  Remember  then 
all  your  life,  s^d  Sir  John,  what  has  now  been 
offered  to  your  eyes  and  ears.  This  farmer  so 
homely  dressed,  whose  manners  you  have  consi- 
dered as  so  rustic,  this  man  is  better  bred  than 
you  •,  and,  though  he  knows  nothing  of  Latin,  he 


114;  tHE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

knows  much  more  than  you,  and  things  of  muck 
greater  use,  you  see,  therefore,  how  unjust  it  is  to 
despise  any  one  for  the  plainness  of  his  dress,  and 
the  rusticity  of  his  manners.  You  may  understand 
a  little  Latin,  but  you  know  not  how  to  plow,  sow 
grain,  or  reap  the  harvest,  nor  even  to  prune  a 
tree.  Sit  down  with  being  convinced  that  you 
have  despised  your  superior. 

Nature  expects  mankind  should  share 
The  duties  of  the  public  care. 
Who's  born  for  sloth  ?  To  some  we  find 
The  plow- share's  annual  toil  assign''d, 
Some  at  the  sounding  anvil  glow  ; 
Some  the  swift  sliding  shuttle  throw  : 
Some  studious  of  the  wind  and  tide, 
From  pole  to  pole  our  commerce  guide. 
Some  taught  by  industry  impart 
With  hands  and  feet  the  works  of  art  : 
While  some  of  genius  more  refin'd, 
With  head  and  tongue  assist  mankind  : 
Each  ainDing  at  one  common  end, 
Proves  to  the  whole  a  needful  friend. 
Thus  born  each  others  useful  aid,, 
By  turns  are  obligations  paid. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  il- 

The  monarch,  when  his  table's  spread. 
Is  to  the  clown  oblig'd  for  bread  ; 
And  when  in  all  his  glory  drest, 
Owes  to  the  loom  the  royal  vest: 
Do  not  the  mason's  toil  and  care, 
Protect  him  from  th'  inclement  air  ? 
Does  not  the  cutler's  art  supply 
The  ornament  that  guards  his  thigh  ? 
Thus  they  their  honest  toil  employ, 
And  with  content  their  fruits  enjoy. 
In  ev'ry  rank,  or  great  or  small, 
'Tis  industry  supports  us  all. 

Consider,  sot,  what  would  ensue, 
Were  all  such  worthless  things  as  you. 
You'd  soon  be  forc'd,  by  hunger  stung. 
To  make  your  dirty  meals  on  dung  ; 
On  which  such  despicable  need, 
Unpitied,  is  reduc'd  to  feed. 
Besides,  vain,  selfish  insect,  learn. 
If  you  can  right  and  wrong  discern, 
That  he  who,  with  industrious  zeal. 
Contributes  to  the  public  weal 
By  adding  to  the  common  good^ 
His  own  hath  rightly  understood. 


116 


THE  LOOKIxNG-GLASS. 


ALFRED  AND  DORINDA, 


MR.  VEN ABLES,  one  fine  summer  day,  hav- 
mg  promised  his  two  children,  vVlfred  and  Dorinda, 
to  treat  them  with  a  walk  in  a  fine  garden  a  little 
way  out  of  town,  went  up  into  his  dressing-room  to 
prepare  himself,  leaving  the  two  children  in  the 
parlour. 

Alfred  was  so  delighted  with  the  thoughts  of  the 
pleasure  he  should  receive  from  his  walk,  that  he 
jumped  about  the  room,  without  thinking,  of  any 
evil  consequence  that  could  happen  j  but  unluckily 


THE   LOOKINGI-GLASS.  Il7*^ 

tiie  skirt  of  his  coat  brushed  against  a  very  valuable 
flower,  which  his  father  was  rearing  with  great 
pains,  and  which  he  had  unfortunately  just  remov- 
ed from  before  the  window,  in  order  to  screen  it 
from  the  scorching  heat  of  the  sun. 

<'  O  brother !  brother  !  (said  Dorinda  taking  up 
the  flower  which  was  broken  off  from  the  stdik) 
what  have  you  doae  !"  The  sweet  girl  was  holding 
the  flower  in  her  hand,  when  her  father,  having 
dressed  himself  came  into  the  parlour.  «  B'ess 
me,  Dorinda,  said  Mr.  Venables,  in  an  angry  tone 
how  could  you  be  so  thoughtless  as  to  pluck  a  flow- 
er, whiclvyou  had  seen  me  take  so  much  care  to 
rear,  in  ordejr  to  have  seed  from  it."  Poor  Dorin- 
da was  in  such  a  fright,  that  she  could  only  beg 
her  papa  not  to  be  angry.  Mr.  Venables,  growing 
more  calm,  replied  he  was  not  angry,  but  remind- 
ed  her,  that  as  they  were  going  to  a  garden  where 
there  was  a  variety  of  flowers,  she  might  have  wait- 
ed till  they  had  got  there  to  indulge  her  fancy. 
He  therefore  hoped  she  would  not  take  it  amiss  if 
he  left  her  at  home. 

.  This  was  a  terrible  situation  for  Dorinda,  who 
held  her  head  down  and  said  nothing.  Little  Al- 
fred however,  was  of  too  generous  a  temper  to 
keep  silence  any  longer.  He  went  up  to  his  papa 
with  bis  eyes  swimming  in  tears,  and  told  him 
L 


'^118  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

at  it  was  not  his  sister  but  himself,  who  had  ac- 
cidentally beaten  off  the  head  of  the  flower  with 
the  flap  of  his  coat.  He  therefore  desired  that  his 
sister  might  go  abroad,  and  he  stay  at  home. 

Mr.  Venables  was  so  delighted  with  the  genero- 
sity of  his  children,  that  he  instantly  forgave  the 
accident,  and  tenderly  kissed  them  both,  being 
happy  to  sec  them  have  such  an  affection  for  each 
other.  He  told  them,  that  he  loved  them  equally 
alike,  and  that  they  should  both  go  with  him. 
Alfred  and  Dorinda  kissed  each  other  and  leaped 
about  for  joy. 

They  all  three  then  walked  to  the  garden,  where 
they  saw  plants  of  the  most  valuable" kinds.  Mr. 
Venables  observed  with  pleasure  how  Dorinda 
pressed  her  clothes  on  each  side,  and  Alfred  kept 
the  skirts  of  his  coat  under  his  arms,  for  fear  of  do- 
ing any  damage  in  their  walk  among  the  flowers. 

The  flower  Mr.  Venables  had  lost  would  have 
given  him  some  pain  had  it  happened  from  any 
other  circumstance  ;  but  the  pleasure  he  received 
from  seeing  such  mutual  affection  and  regard  sub- 
sist between  his  two  children,  amply  repaid  him 
for  the  loss  of  his  flower.  I  cannot  omit  the  oppor- 
tunity that  here  presents  itself,  of  reminding  my 
young  friends,  not  only  how  necessary,  but  how 
amiable  and  praise-worthy  it  is,  for  brothers  and 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  H 

sisters  to  live  together  in  harmony.  It  is  not  only 
their  most  important  interest  to  do  so,  but  what 
should  be  a  still  stronger  argument  with  theip, 
such  are  the  commands  of  him  who  made  them. 

From  the  gay  world  we'll  oft  retire, 
To  our  own  family  and  fire, 

Where  love  our  hours  employs  , 
No  noisy  neighbours  enter  here, 
Ko  intermeddling  stranger  near, 

To  spoil  our  heart-felt  joys. 

If  solid  happiness  we  prize. 
Within  our  breast  this  jewel  lies  , 

And  they  are  fools  who  roam  : 
The  world  has  nothing  to  bestow, 
From  our  own  selves  our  joys  must  flow. 

And  that  dear  hut  our  home. 

Our  babes  shall  richest  comforts  bring  5 
If  tutor'd  right  they'll  prove  a  spring 

Whence  pleasures  ever  rise  ; 
We'll  form  their  minds  with  studious  care. 
To  all  that's  manly,  good  and  fair, 

And  train  them  for  the  skies. 

While  they  our  wisest  hours  engage. 
They'll  joy  cur  youth,  support  our  agC;, 


120 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 


And  crown  our  hoary  hairs  : 
They'll  grow  in  virtue  ev'ry  day, 
And  thus  our  fondest  loves  repay, 

And  recompense  our  cares. 

Thus  hand  in  hand  through  life  we'll  ge. 
Its  chequer'd  paths  of  joy  and  woe 

With  cautious  steps  we'll  tread  : 
Quit  its  vain  scenes  without  a  tear. 
Without  a  trouble  or  a  fear, 

And  mingle  with  the  dead. 

While  conscience  like  a  faithful  friend, 
Shall  through  the  gloomy  vale  attend, 

And  cheer  our  dying  breath  : 
Shall,  when  all  other  comforts  cease, 
Like  a  kind  angel  whisper  peace, 

And  smooth  the  bed  of  death  ! 


1 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


121 


► 


ROSINA,  ©R  THE.  FROWARD  GIRL  REFORMED. 

I  WOULD  recommend  to  all  my  little  readers, 
who  have  had  the  misfortune  to  contract  a  vicious 
habit,  very  attentively  to  peruse  the  following  his- 
torical fragment,  in  which,  if  they  will  but  pro- 
perly reflect,  they  will  see  that  amendment  is  no 
very  dijSicult  thing,  when  once  they  form  a  sincere 
resolution  to  accomplish  it. 

Rosina  was  the  joy  of  her  parents  until  the  se* 
venth  year  of  her  age,  at  which  period  the  glowing 
light  of  reason  begins  to  unfold  itself,  and  makes 
us  sensible  of  our  infantile  faults ,  but  this  period 


122  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

of  life  had  a  different  effect  on  Rosina,  who  had 
contracted  an  unhappy  disposition  which  cannot 
better  be  described,  than  by  the  practises  of  those 
snarHng  curs  that  grumble  incessantly,  and  seem 
always  ready  to  run  at  and  bite  those  who  approach 
them. 

If  a  person  touched  any  pf  her  play-things 
though  it  were  by  mistake,  she  would  be  out  of 
temper  for  hours,  and  murmur  about  the  house  as 
though  she  had  been  robbed.  If  any  one  attempt- 
ed to  correct  her,  though  in  the  most  gentle  man- 
ner, she  would  fly  into  a  rage,  equalled  only  by  the 
fury  of  contending  elements,  and  the  uproar  of  the 
angry  billows  of  the  ocean. 

Her  father  and  mother  saw  this  unaccountable 
change  with  inexpressible  sorrow  ;  for  neither  they 
Tior  any  one  in  the  house,  could  now  bear  with  her. 
Indeed  she  would  sometimes  seem  sensible  of  her 
errors,  and  would  often  shed  tears  in  private,  on 
seeing  herself  thus  become  the  object  of  con- 
tempt to  every  one,  not  excepting  her  parents  ; 
but  an  ill  habit  had  got  the  better  of  her  temper, 
and  she  consequently  every  day  grew  worse  and 
worse. 

One  evening,  which  happened  to  be  new-year's 
eve,  she  saw  her  mother  going  towards  her  room, 
vnth  a  basket  under  her  cloak.  Rosiaa  followed  her 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  125 

mother  who  ordered  her  to  go  back  to  the  parlour 
immediately.  As  Rosina  went  thither,  she  threw 
about  all  the  stools  and  chairs  that  came  in  her 
way. 

About  half  an  hour  after,  her  mamma  sent  for 
her,  and  great  indeed  was  her  surprise  on  seeing 
the  room  lighted  up  with  a  number  of  candles, 
and  the  table  covered  with  the  most  elegant  toys. 

Her  mother  called  her  to  her,  and  desired  her 
to  read,  in  a  bit  of  paper  which  she  gave  her,  for 
whom  those  toys  were  intended,  on  which  she 
read  the  following  words  written  in  large  letters  : 
*«  For  an  amiable  little  girl,  in  return  for  her  good 
behaviour."  Rosina  looked  down,  and  could  not 
say  a  word.  On  her  mother's  asking  her,  for 
whom  those  toys  were  intended,  she  replied,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  that  they  could  not  be  intended 
for  her. 

Her  parent  then,  shewed  her  another  paper,  de- 
siring her  to  see  if  that  did  not  concern  her.  Ro- 
sina took  it,  and  read  as  follows  :  <'  For  a  froward 
little  girl,  who  is  sensible  of  her  faults,  and  in 
beginning  a  new  year  will  take  pains  to  amend 
them,"  Rosina  immediately  throwing  herself  in- 
to her  mother's  arms,  and  crying  bitterly,  said, 
«<  O  !  that  is  I,  that  is  I  "  The  tears  also  fell  from 
her  parent's  eyes,  partly  for  sorrow  on  account  of 


124  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

her  daughter's  faults,  and  partly  through  joy  in 
the  promising  hope  of  her  amendment. 

'<  Come,  Rosina,  (said  she  to  her,  after  a  short 
pause)  and  take  what  was  intended  for  you,  and 
may  God,  who  has  heard  your  resolution,  give  you 
ability  to  fulfil  it,"  Rosina,  however,  insisted  on 
it  that  it  belonged  to  the  person  described  in  the 
first  paper,  and  therefore  desired  her  mamma  to 
keep  those  things  for  her  till  she  had  answered 
that  description.  This  answer  gave  her  mother 
a  deal  of  pleasure,  and  she  immediately  put  all  the 
toys  into  a  drawer,  giving  the  key  of  it  to  Rosina, 
and  telling  her  to  open  the  drawer, .  whenever 
she  should  think  it  proper  so  to  do. 

Several  weeks  passed  without  the  least  com- 
plaint against  Rosina,  who  had  performed  wonders 
on  herself.  She  then  went  to  her  mamma,  threw 
her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  asked  her  if  she 
thought  she  had  then  a  right  to  open  the  drawer. 
«  Yes,  my  dear,  (said  her  mother,  clasping  her 
tenderly  in  her  arms)  you  may  now  open  the 
drawer  with  great  propriety.  But  pray  tell  me  how 
you  have  so  well  managed  to  get  the  better  of  your 
temper  ?  Rosina  said  it  had  cost  her  a  deal  of  trou- 
ble *,  but  every  morning  and  evening  and  indeed 
almost  every  hour  in  the  day,  she  prayed  to  God 
to  assist  her. 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  125 

Her  mother  shed  tears  of  delight  on  this  occa- 
sion -y  and  Rosina  became  not  only  mistress  of  the 
toys,  but  of  the  affection  of  all  her  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances. Her  mother  related  this  happy 
change  in  the  temper  of  her  daughter  in  the 
presence  ot  a  little  miss,  who  gave  way  to  the 
same  unhappy  disposition  ;  when  the  little  miss  was 
so  struck  with  the  relation  of  it,  that  she  immedi- 
ately determined  to  set  about  the  work  of  refor- 
mation, in  order  to  become  as  amiable  as  Rosina. 
Her  attempt  was  not  made  in  vain,  and  Rosina 
had  the  satisfaction  to  find,  that  in  being  useful 
to  herself,  she  had  contributed  to  make  others 
happy.  My  youthful  readers,  if  any  of  you  la- 
bour under  bad  habits,  set  about  a  reformation 
immediately,  lest  you  become  hardened  by  time, 
and  thus  totally  destroy  your  present  and  future 
happiness. 

Lovely,  lasting  peace  of  mind  ! 
Sweet  delight  of  human  kind  ! 
Heav'nly  born,  and  bred  on  high 
To  crown  the  fav'rites  of  the  sky 
With  more  of  happiness  below  ! 
Than  victors  in  a  triumph  know  ! 
Whither.  O  !  whither  art  thou  fled. 
To  lay  thy  meek  contented  head  ! 
What  happy  regions  dost  thou  please^ 
To  make  the  seat  of  calms  and  ease  ? 


126 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


Lovely  lasting  peace  !  appear  ; 
This  world  itself  if  thou  art  here, 
Is  once  again  with  Eden  blest. 
And  man  contains  it  in  his  breast. 

'Twas  thus,  as  under  shade  I  stood, 
I  sung  my  wishes  to  the  wood, 
And,  lost  in  thought,  no  more  perceiv'd 
The  branches  whisper  as  they  wav'd  : 
It  seem'd  as  all  the  quiet  place 
Confessed  the  presence  of  the  grace  : 
When  thus  she  spoke — <'  Go  rule  thy  will  ; 
*'  Bid  thy  wild  passions  all  be  still ; 
«  Know  God — and  bring  thy  heart  to  know 
<«  The  jov3  which  from  religion  flow  ; 
«  Then  ev'ry  grace  shall  prove  its  guest, 
"  And  ril  be  there  to  crown  the  rest." 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS, 


127 


LITTLE  ANTHONY. 


ON  one  of  those  fine  mornings,  which  the 
month  of  June  frequently  affords  us,  little  Antho- 
ny|  was  busily  employed  in  preparing  to  set  out 
with  his  father  on  a  party  of  pleasure,  which,  for 
several  days  before,  had  engrossed  all  his  attention. 
Though,  in  general  he  found  it  very  difficult  to 
rise  early,  yet  this  morning  he  got  up  soon,  with- 
out being  called,  so  much  was  his  mind  fixed  on 
the  intended  jaunt. 

It  often  happens,  with   young  people  in  partic- 
ular,  that  all  on  a  gudden,  they  lose  the  object 


128  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

they  flatter  themselves  they  were  almost  in  posses- 
sion of.  So  it  fared  with  little  Anthony;  for  just 
as  they  were  ready  to  set  out,  the  sky  darkened 
all  at  once,  the  clouds  grew  thick,  and  a  tempes- 
tuous wind  bent  down  the  trees,  and  raised  a  cloud 
of  dust. 

Little  Anthony  was  running  down  the  garden 
every  minute  to  see  how  the  sky  looked,  and  then 
jumped  up  stairs  to  examine  the  barometer  ;  but 
neither  the  sky  nor  the  barometer  seemed  to  fore- 
bode any  thing  in  his  favour.  Notwithstanding 
all  this,  he  gave  his  father  the  most  flattering  hopes 
that  it  would  soon  disperse.  Me  doubted  not  but 
that  it  would  be  one  of  the  finest  days  in  the 
world  ;  and  he  therefore  thought,  that  the  sooner 
they  set  out  the  better,  as  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
lose  a  moment  of  their  time. 

His  father,  however,  did  not  choose  to  be  too 
hasty  in  giving  credit  to  his  son's  prediction,  and 
thought  it  more  s^dviseable  to  wait  a  little.  While 
Anthony  and  his  father  were  reasoning  on  this 
matter,  the  clouds  burst  and  down  came  a  very 
heavy  shower  of  rain.  Poor  Anthony  was  now 
doubly  disappointed,  and  vented  his  grief  in  tears, 
refusing  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  consolation 

The  rain  continued  without  inter  riission,  till 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  the   clouds 


THE  LOOKlNG-GLASS.  129 

began  to  disperse,  the  sun  resumed  its  splendor, 
the  elements  its  clearness,  and  all  nature  breathed 
the  odours  of  spring.  As  the  weather  brightened, 
so  did  the  countenance  of  little  Anthony,  and  by 
degrees  he  recovered  his  good  humour. 

His  father  now  thought  it  necessary  to  indulge 
him  with  a  little  walk,  and  off  they  set.  The 
calmness  of  the  air,  the  music  of  the  feathered 
songsters,  the  lively  and  enchanting  verdure  of  the 
fields,  and  the  sweet  perfumes  that  breathed  all 
around  them,  completely  quieted  and  composed  the 
troubled  heart  of  the  disappointed  Anthony. 

"  Do  not  you  observe,  (said  his  father  to  him) 
how  agreeable  is  the  change  of  every  thing  be- 
fore you  ?  You  cannot  have  yet  forgotten  how  dull 
every  thing  appeared  to  us  yesterday ;  the  ground 
was  parched  up  for  want  of  rain  ;  the  flowers  had 
lost  their  colour,  and  hung  their  heads  in  langour ; 
and,  in  short,  all  nature  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of 
inaction.  What  can  be  the  reason,  that  nature 
has  so  suddenly  put  on  such  a  different  aspect  ?■' — 
«'  That  is  easily  accounted  for,  sir,  (said  Anthony) 
it  undoubtedly  is  occasioned  by  the  rain  that  has 
fallen  to  day." 

Anthony  had  no  sooner  pronounced  these  words 
*han  he  saw  his  father's  motive  for  asking  him  the 
M 


130  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

question.  He  now  plainly  perceived  the  impro- 
priety of  his  late  conduct,  in  being  so  unhappy 
about  what  was  evidently  so  universally  serviceable. 
He  blushed,  but  his  father  took  no  notice  of  it, 
judging  that  his  own  good  sense  would  sufficiently 
teach  him  another  time,  without  reluctance,  to 
sacrifice  selfish  pleasure  to  the  general  good  of  the 
community  at  large. 

Nature  attend  !  join  every  living  soul 
Beneath  the  spacious  temple  of  the  sky, 
In  adoration  join  ;  and  ardent  raise 
One  general  song  !    To  him,  ye  vocal  gales. 
Breathe  soft,  whose  spirit  in  your  freshness  breathes; 
O  talk  of  him  in  solitary  glooms. 
Where  o*er  the  rock  the  scarcely  waving  pine 
Eills  the  brown  shade  with  a  religious  awe  ! 
And  ye,  whose  bolder  note  is  heard  afar. 
Who  shake  the  astonish'd  world,  lift  high  to  heav'n 
Th'  impetuous  song,  and  say  from  whom  you  rage. 
His  praise,  ye  brooks,  attune,  ye  trembling  rills ; 
And  let  me  catch  it  as  I  muse  along. 


•THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


131 


THE  HISTORY  OF  JONATHAN  THE  GARDENER. 


IN  the  city  of  Lincoln  lived  an  honest  and  in- 
dustrious gardener,  whose  name  was  Jonathan,  and 
who  was  in  general  considered  as  the  most  skilful 
in  his  profession  of  any  in  that  country.  His  fruits 
were  much  larger  than  any  of  his  neighbours',  and 
were  generally  supposed  to  have  a  more  exquisite 
flavour. 

It  was  the  pride  of  all  the  neighbouring  gentle- 
men to  have  Jonathan's  fruits  to  form  their  de- 
serts, so  that  he  was  under  no  necessity  of  sending 
the  produce  of  his  garden  to  market,  as  he  was 


132  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

always  sure  of  meeting  with  a  sale  for  them  at 
home.  His  prudence  and  assiduity  increased,  as 
his  fortune  enlarged,  and  instead  of  riches  ma- 
king him  idle,  he  attended  more  closely  to  culti- 
vation. 

Such  a  character  and  situation  could  not  fail  of 
procuring  him  a  suitable  matrimonial  mate,  and 
he  accordingly  married  a  young  woman  in  the 
neighbourhood,  whose  name  was  Bella,  and,  who 
was  both  prudent  and  handsome;  The  first  year 
of  their  marriage  was  as  comfortable  as  they  could 
wish  for  j  for  Bella  assisted  her  husband  in  his  bu- 
siness, and  every  thing  prospered  with  them. 

This  happiness,  however,  was  not  to  last  long  ; 
for  near  his  house  lived  another  gardener,  whose 
name  was  Guzzle,  and  who  spent  his  time,  from 
morning  to  night,  in  an  alehouse.  The  merry 
and  thoughtless  humour  of  Guzzle  by  degrees  be- 
gan to  be  pleasing  to  Jonathan,  who  soon  fell  in- 
to the  same  ruinous  error.  At  first  he  only  went 
now  and  then  to  drink  with  him,  and  talk  to  him 
about  gardening  •,  and  he  very  soon  began  to  drop 
the  subject  of  plants,  and  delight  only  in  the 
praises  of  malt. 

Bella  saw  this  change  in  her  husband  with  the 
utmost  grief  and  consternation.  As  yet  not  hav- 
ing sufficient  experience  to  attend  to  the  wall- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS,  133 

fruit  herself,  she  was  frequently  obliged  to  fetch 
him  home  to  his  work,  when  she  generally  found 
him  in  a  state  of  intoxication.  It  would  often 
have  been  better  had  he  kept  out  of  the  garden 
than  gone  into  it ;  for  his  head  was  generally  so 
muddled  with  beer  when  he  went  to  work  on  his 
trees,  that  his  pruning  knife  committed  the  great- 
est depredations,  cutting  away  those  branches 
which  ought  to  have  been  left,  and  leaving  those 
that  were  useless. 

Hence  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  the 
garden  fell  off  in  the  quality  and  quantity  of  its 
^^  fruit,  and  the  more  Jonathan  perceived  the  de- 
cay, the  more  he  gave  himself  up  to  drinking. 
As  his  garden  gradually  failed  in  procuring  him 
the  means  of  getting  strong  liquor,  he  first  parted 
with  his  furniture,  and  then  with  his  linen  and 
clothes. 

Bella,  in  the  mean  time,  did  what  little  she 
could  to  keep  things  together ;  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose; One  day,  when  she  was  gone  to  market 
with  some  roots  she  had  reared  herself,  he  went 
and  sold  his  working  utensils,  and  immediately 
went  and  spent  all  with  Guzzle.  Judge  what 
must  be  the  situation  of  poor  Bella  on  her  return! 
It  was  indeed  a  heart  breaking  consideration  to  be 
thus  reduced  to  poverty  by  the  folly  of  her  hus^ 
M2 


IS*  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

band  ;  but  yet  she  loved  him,  and  equally  felt  for 
him  as  for  herself,  but  still  more  for  an  infant, 
as  yet  but  six  months  old,  and  which  received  its 
nourishment  from  her  breast. 

In  the  evening,  Jonathan  came  home  drunk, 
and  swearing  at  his  wife,  asked  her  for  something 
to  eat.  Bella  handed  him  a  knife,  and  put  before 
him  a  large  basket  covered  with  her  apron  ;  but 
Jonathan  in  a  pet  pulled  away  the  apron  ;  his  as- 
tonishment was  inexpressible,  when  he  beheld  no- 
thing in  the  basket  but  his  own  child  fast  asleep: ' 
*'  Eat  that,"  said  Bella,  "  for  I  have  nothing  else 
to  give  you.  It  is  your  own  child,  and  if  you  do 
not  devour  it,  famine  and  misery  will,  in  a  sh(^ 
time." 

Jonathan  seemed  almost  petrified  into  a  stone 
at  these  words,  and  for  some  time  remained  speech- 
less with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  sleeping  son.  At 
).ast  recovering  himself,  quite  sobered,  his  heart 
eased  itself  in  tears  and  lamentations.  He  arose 
and  embraced  his  wife,  asked  her  pardon,  and  pro- 
mised to  amend  ;  and  what  was  still  better,  he  was 
faithful  to  his  promise. 

Though  his  wife's  father  had  for  some  time  re- 
fused to  see  him,  yet  on  being  made  acquainted 
with  his  promises  of  reformation,  he  advanced 
money  sufiicient  to  enable  him  tp  restore  his  gaN 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  135 

den  to  its  former  state.  Jonathan  did  not  deceive 
him  !  for  his  garden  put  on  another  appearance, 
and  cut  a  more  splendid  figure  than  ever.  After 
this,  neither  his  prudence  nor  activity  forsook  him, 
but  he  became  at  once,  and  continued  so  even  to 
old  age,  the  honest  man,  the  indulgent  husband, 
and  the  tender  father.  He  would  sometimes  tell 
this  tale  of  his  follies  to  his  son,  as  a  lesson  to  him, 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  get  connected  with  bad 
company,  and  how  easily  human  nature  is  led 
astray  by  the  poison  of  example.  The  son,  who 
thus  acquired  knowledge  at  his  father's  former 
expense  became  a  wise  and  prudent  man,  and  con- 
ceived such  an  aversion  to  idleness  and  drinking, 
that  he  continued  all  his  life  as  sober  as  he  was 
laborious.  Thus  was  an  innocent  infant  the  cause 
of  a  reformation  in  a  deluded  father. 

Great  heav'n!  how  frail  thy  creature  man  is  made! 
How  by  himself  insensibly  betray'd  ! 
In  our  own  strength  unhappily  secure, 
Too  little  cautious  of  the  adverse  pow'r  ; 
And  by  the  blast  of  self  opinion  mov'd 
We  wish  to  charm,  and  seek  to  be  belov'd. 
On  pleasure's  flow'ry  brink  we  idly  stray. 
Masters  as  yet  of  our  returning  way : 
Seeing  no  danger,  we  disarm  our  mind. 
And  give  our  conduct  to  the  waves  and  wind : 


1  36  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

# 

Then  in  the  flow'ry  mead,  or  verdant  shade, 
To  wanton  dalliance  negligently  laid, 
We  weave  the  chaplet,  and  we  crown  the  bowl,, 
And  smiling  see  the  nearer  waters  roll ; 
Till  the  strong  gusts  of  passion  rise, 
Till  the  dire  tempest  mingles  earth  and  skies ; 
And,  swift  into  the  boundless  ocean  borne, 
Our  foolish  confidence  too  late  we  mourn. 
Round  our  devoted  heads  the  billows  beat ; 
And  from  our  troubled  view  the  lessen'd  lands  re- 
treat. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  137 


THE    sparrow's  NEST. 

BILLY  JESSAMY,  having  one  day  espied  a 
sparrow's  nest  under  the  eves  of  the  house,  ran 
directly  to  inform  his  sisters  of  the  important  dis- 
covery, and  they  immediately  fell  into  a  consulta- 
tion concerning  the  manner  in  which  they  should 
take  it.  It  was  at  last  agreed,  that  they  should 
wait  till  the  young  ones  were  fledged,  that  Billy 
should  then  get  a  ladder  up  against  the  wall,  and 
that  his  sisters  should  hold  it  fast  below,  while  he 
mounted  after  the  prize. 


138  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

As  soon  as  they  thought  these  poor  little  crea- 
tures were  properly  fledged,  preparations  were 
made  for  the  execution  of  their  intended  plan. 
The  old  birds  flew  backwards  and  forwards  about 
the  nest,  and  expressed,  as  well  as  they  were  able, 
the  sorrow  and  affliction  they  felt  on  being  robbed 
of  their  young.  Billy  and  his  two  sisters,  however, 
paid  no  regard  to  their  piteous  moans ;  for  they 
took  the  nest,  with  three  young  ones  in  it. 

As  they  had  now  got  the  innocent  prisoners  in 
their  possession,  the  next  thing  to  be  considered 
was  what  they  should  do  with  them.  The  young- 
er sister  being  of  a  mild  and  tender-hearted  dispo- 
sition proposed  putting  them  into  a  cage,  promis- 
ing to  look  after  them  herself,  and  to  see  that  they 
wanted  for  nothing.  She  reminded  her  brother 
and  sister  how  pretty  it  would  be  to  see  and  hear 
those  birds  when  grown  up. 

Billy,  however  was  of  a  very  different  opinion  *, 
for  he  insisted  on  it,  that  it  would  be  better  to  pluck 
off  their  feathers,  and  then  set  them  down  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  as  it  would  be  very  funny  to 
see  how  they  would  hop  about  without  feathers* 
The  elder  sister  was  of  the  same  way  of  thinking 
as  the  younger,  but  Billy  was  determined  to  have 
the  matter  entirely  his  own  way. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  139 

The  two  little  ladies  finding  they  were  not  likely 
to  have  things  as  they  wished,  gave  up  the  point 
without  much  hesitation;  for  Billy  had  already  be- 
gan to  strip  the  helpless  birds.  As  fast  as  he 
plucked  them  he  put  them  down  on  the  floor,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  the  little  birds  were  stripped 
of  all  their  tender  feathers.  The  poor  things  cried 
Wheet !  Wheet  I  and  complained  in  the  most  pite- 
ous accents  ;  they  shook  their  little  wings  and 
shuddered  with  the  cold, 

Billy,  however,  who  had  not  the  least  kind  of 
feeling  for  their  sufferings,  carried  his  persecu- 
tions still  further,  pushing  them  with  his  toe  to 
make  them  go  on  when  they  stopped,  and  laughed 
most  heartily  whenever  they  staggered  or  tumbled 
down  through  weakness.  Though  his  two  sisters 
at  first  setting  off  had  pleaded  against  this  cruel 
kind  of  sport,  yet  seeing  their  brother  so  merry  on 
the  oocasion,  they  forgot  the  former  dictates  of 
humanity,  and  joined  in  the  cruel  sport  with  him. 
Such  as  we  see  in  the  preceding  Tale,  is  the  in- 
fluence of  a  bad  example  I 

In  the  midst  of  this  cruel  kind  of  enjoyment,  at 
a  distance  they  saw  their  tutor  approaching  ;  this 
put  them  into  some  flurry,  and  each  pocketed  a  bird. 
They  would  have  avoided  their  tutor,  but  he  call- 
ed to  them,  and  asked  their  reasons  for  wishing  to 


14;0  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

shun  him.  They  approached  him  very  slowly, 
with  their  eyes  cast  downwards,  which  convinced 
him  something  amiss  was  going  forwards. 

On  their  answering  that  they  were  only  playing, 
their  tutor  observed  to  them  that  they  very  well 
knew  he  never  denied  them  innocent  amuse- 
ment, but  on  the  contrary  w^as  always  glad  to  see 
them  cheerful  and  happy.  He  took  notice  that 
each  held  one  of  their  hands  in  their  pocket,  upon 
when  he  insisted  on  their  pulling  them  out,  and 
let  him  see  what  it  was  they  endeavoured  to  con- 
ceal. 

They  were  obliged  to  comply  much  against 
their  will,  when  each  produced  a  poor  bird  that 
had  been  stripped  of  its  feathers.  The  tutor  was 
filled  with  pity  and  indignation,  and  gave  each  of 
them  a  look,  that  was  more  dreadful  than  any 
words  he  could  have  spoken.  After  some  silence, 
Billy  attempted  to  justify  himself  by  saying,  that 
it  was  a  droll  sight  to  see  sparrows  hopping  about 
without  feathers,  and  he  could  not  see  any  harm  in 
it. 

«  Can  you  then,  said  the  tutor  to  Billy,  take 
pleasure  in  seeing  innocent  creatures  suffer,  and 
hear  their  cries  without  pity  ?"  Billy  said  he  did 
not  see  how  they  could  suffer  from  having  a  few 
feathers  pulled  off.    The  tutor  to  convince  him 


THE  looking-glass;  Ul 

©f  his  error,  pulled  a  few  hairs  from  his  head, 
when  he  roared  out  loudly,  that  he  hurt  him. 
«  What  would  your  pain  be  then,  said  the  tutor, 
were  I  thus  to  pluck  all  the  hair  oft  your  head  ? 
You  are  sensible  of  the  pain  you  now  feel,  but  you 
was  insensible  of  the  torment  to  which  you  put 
those  innocent  creatures  that  never  offended  you. 
But  that  you,  ladles,  should  join  in  such  an  act  of 
cruelty,  very  much  surprises  me  ! 

The  ladies  stood  motionless,  and  then,  without 
being  able  to  say  a  word,  sat  dov^n  with  their  eyes 
swimming  in  tears  ;  which  their  tutor  observing, 
he  said  no  more  to  them.  But  Billy  still  persisted 
in  his  opinion  that  he  did  the  birds  no  harm  j  on 
the  contrary,  he  said,  they  shewed  their  pleasure 
by  clapping  their  wings  and  chirping.  "* 

They  clapped  their  wings,  said  the  tutor,  from 
the  pain  you  put  them  to ;  and  what  you  call  sing- 
ing, were  cries  and  lamentations.  Could  those 
birds  have  expressed  themselves  in  your  speech, 
you  would  have  heard  them  cry.  Ah,  father  and 
mother,  save  us,  for  we  have  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  cruel  children,  who  have  robbed  us  of  all  our 
feathers  !  We  are  cold  and  in  pain.  Come  warm 
us  and  cure  us,  or  we  shall  soon  die  !" 

The  little  ladies  could  no  longer  refrain  from 
N 


142  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

tears  and  accused  Billy  of  leading  them  into  this 
act  of  cruelty.  Billy  was  himself  become  sensible 
of  his  faults,  and  had  already  felt  the  smart  of  hav- 
ing a  few  hairs  plucked  from  his  head  ;  but  the 
reproaches  of  his  own  heart,  were  now  visible  on 
his  countenance.  It  appeared  to  the  tutor,  that 
there  was  no  need  of  carrying  the  punishment  any 
further  ;  for  the  error  Billy  had  committed  did  not 
arise  from  a  natural  love  of  cruelty,  but  merely 
from  want  of  thought  and  reflection.  From  this 
moment  Billy,  instead  of  punishing  and  tormenting 
dumb  creatures,  always  felt  for  their  distresses,  and 
did  what  he  could  to  relieve  them. 


«'  When  returning  with  her  loaded  bill, 
Th*  astonish'd  mother  finds  a  vacant  nest. 
By  the  hard  hand  of  unrelenting  clowns, 
Robb'd  :  to  the  ground  the  vain  provision  falls  j 
Her  pinions  ruffle,  and,  low  drooping,  scarce 
Can  bear  the  mourner  to  the  poplar  shade  ; 
Where,  all  abandon'd  to  despair,  she  sings 
Her  sorrows  thro'  the  night,  and  on  the  boughs 
Sole  sitting ;  still,  at  every  dying  fall. 
Takes  up  again  her  lamentable  strain 
Of  windirg  woe,  till,  wide  around,  the  woods 
Sigh  to  her  song,  and  with  her  wail  resound." 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  14.3 

I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
(Though  grac'd  with  polish'd  manners  and  fine 

sense. 
Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail 
That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path. 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarn'd. 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 
Ye  therefore  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons 
To  love  it  too.     The  spring  time  of  our  years 
Is  soon  dishonoured  and  defiled  in  most 
By  budding  ills,  that  ask  a  prudent  hand 
To  check  them.     But  alas  I  none  sooner  shoots, 
If  unrestrain'd,  into  luxuriant  growth. 
Than  cruelty,  most  dev'lish  of  them  all. 
Mercy  to  him  that  shews  it,  is  the  rule 
And  righteous  limitation  ot  its  act, 
By  which  heav'n  moves  in  pardoning  guilty  man  5 
And  he  that  shews  none,  being  ripe  in  years. 
And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits, 
Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it  in  his  turn. 


144 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


WILLIAM  AND    THOMAS  ',    OR,    THE  CONTRAST  BE- 
TWEEN INDUSTRY  AND  INDOLENCE. 


IN  a  village  at  a  small  distance  from  the  metro- 
polis, lived  a  wealthy  husbandman,  who  had  two 
sons,  William  and  Fhomas,  of  whom  the  former 
was  exactly  a  year  older  than  the  latter. 

On  the  day  that  the  second  son  was  born,  the 
husbandman  set  in  his  orchard  two  young  apple- 
tfees  of  an  equal  size,  on  which  he  bestowed  the 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  145 

same  care  in  cultivating,  and  they  throve  so  much 
alike,  that  it  was  a  difficult  matter  to  say  which 
claimed  the  preference. 

As  soon  as  the  children  were  capable  of  using 
garden  implements,  their  father  took  them,  on  a 
fine  day  early  in  the  spring,  to  see  the  two  plants 
he  had  reared  for  them,  and  called  after  their 
names.  William  and  Thomas  having  much  admir- 
ed the  beauty  of  those  trees,  now  filled  with  bios-, 
soms,  their  father  told  them,  that  he  made  them  a 
present  of  them  in  good  condition,  and  that  they 
would  continue  to  thrive  or  decay,  in  proportion 
to  the  labour  or  neglect  they  received. 

Thomas,  though  the  younger  son,  turned  all  his 
attention  to  the  improvement  of  his  tree,  by  clear- 
ing it  of  insects  as  soon  as  he  discovered  them,  and 
propping  up  the  stem  that  it  might  grow  perfectly 
upright.  He  dug  all  around  it  to  loosen  the  earth, 
that  the  root  might  receive  nourishment  from  the 
warmth  of  the  sun,  and  the  moisture  of  the  dews. 
No  mother  could  nurse  her  child  more  tenderly 
in  its  infancy,  than  Thomas  did  his  tree. 

His  brother  William,  however,  pursued  a  very 
difi^erent  conduct ;  for  he  loitered  away  all  his  time 
in  the  most  idle  and  "mischievous  manner,  one  of 
his  principal  amusements  being  to  throw  stones  at 

N  2 


146  THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 

people  as  they  passed.  He  kept  company  with  all 
the  idle  boys  in  the  neighbourhood,  with  whom  he 
was  continually  fighting  and  was  seldom  without 
a  black  eye  or  a  broken  shin.  His  poor  tree  was 
neglected  and  never  thought  of,  till  one  day  in  the 
autumn,  when,  by  chance,  seeing  his  brother's 
tree  loaded  with  the  finest  apples,  and  almost  rea- 
dy to  break  down  with  the  weight,  he  ran  to  see 
his  own  tree,  not  doubting  but  he  should  find  it  in 
the  same  pleasing  condition. 

Great  indeed  was  his  disappointment  and  surprise. 
when,  instead  of  finding  the  tree  loaded  with  excel- 
lent fruit,  he  beheld  nothing  but  a  few  withered 
leaves,  and  branches  covered  with  moss.  He  in- 
stantly went  to  his  father,  and  complained  of  his 
partiality  in  giving  him  a  tree  that  was  worthless 
and  barren,  while  his  brother's  produced  the  most 
luxuriant  fruit.  He  therefore  thought,  that  his 
brother  should,  at  least  give  him  one  half  of  his 
apples. 

His  father  told  him,  that  it  was  by  no  means 
reasonable,  that  the  industrious  should  give  up  part 
of  their  labour  to  feed  the  idle.  «^  If  your  tree 
said  he,  has  produced  you  nothing,  it  is  but  a  just 
reward  of  your  indolence,  since  you  see  what  the 
industry  of  your  brother  has  gained  him.  Your 
tree  was  equally  full  of  blossoms,   and   grew  in 


THE  LOOKI^fG-GLASS.  147 

the  same  soil  -,  %\it  you  paid  no  attention  to  the 
culture  of  it.  Your  brother  suffered  no  visible  in- 
sect to  remain  in  his  tree  j  but  you  neglected  that 
caution  and  left  them  even  to  eat  up  the  very  buds. 
As  I  cannot  bear  to  see  even  plants  pei'ish  through 
neglect,  I  must  now  take  this  tree  from  you,  and 
give  it  to  your  brother,  whose  care  and  attention 
may  possibly  restore  it  to  its  former  vigour.  The 
fruit  it  shall  produce  must  be  his  property,  and 
you  must  no  longer  consider  yourself  as  having  any 
right  therein.  However  you  may  go  to  my  nur- 
sery, and  there  choose  any  other,  which  you  may 
like  better,  and  try  what  you  can  do  with  it ;  but 
if  you  neglect  to  take  proper  care  of  it  j  I  shall  also 
take  that  from  you,  and  give  it  to  your  brother,  as 
a  reward  for  his  superior  industry  and  attention." 
This  had  the  desired  effect  on  William,  who 
clearly  perceived  the  justice  and  propriety  of  his 
father's  reasoning,  and  instantly  got  into  the  nur- 
sery to  choose  the  most  thriving  apple-tree  he 
could  there  meet  with.  His  brother  Thomas  as- 
sisted him  in  the  culture  of  his  tree,  advising  him 
in  what  manner  to  proceed ;  and  William  made 
the  best  use  of  his  time,  and  the  instructions  he 
received  from  his  brother.  He  left  off  all  his  mis- 
chievous tricks,  forsook  the  company  of  idle  boys, 
applied  himself  cheerfully  to  work,  and  in  autumn 


148  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

received  the  reward  of  his  labour,  his  tree  being 
then  loaded  with  fruit. 

From  the  happy  change  in  his  conduct  he  de- 
rived the  advantage,  not  only  of  enriching  him- 
self with  a  plentiful  crop  of  fruit,  but  also  of  get- 
ting rid  of  bad  and  pernicious  habits.  His  father 
was  so  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  reformation,  that 
the  following  season  he  gave  him  and  his  brother 
the  produce  of  a  small  orchard,  which  they  shared 
equally  between  thero. 

*Tis  the  voice  of  a  sluggard — I  heard  him  com- 
plain, 

"  You  have  wak'd  me  too  soon,  I  must  slumber 
again. 

As  the  door  on  its  hinges  so  he  on  his  bed 

Turns  his  sides  and  his  shoulders  and  his  heavy 
head. 

<*  A  little  more  sleep  and  a  little  more  slumber  j" 
Thus  he  wastes  half  his  days,  and  his  hours  with- 
out number. 
And  when  he  gets  up  he  sits  folding  his  hands. 
Or  walks  about  saunt'ring,  or  trifling  he  stands. 

I  pass'd  by  his  garden  and  saw  the  wild  briar, 
The  thorn  and  the  thistle  grew  broader  and  higher^ 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


149 


The  clothes  that  hang  on  him  are  turning  to  rags  ; 
And  his  money   still  wastes,  till  he  starves  or  he 
begs; 

I  made  him  a  visit,  still  hoping  to  find 
He  had  took  better  care  for  improving  his  mind  ; 
He  told  me  his  dreams,  talk'd  of  eating  and  drink- 
ing* 
But  he  scarce  reads  his  bible,  and  never  loves  think- 
ing. 


Said  I  then  to  my  heart, «'  Here's  a  lesson  for  mej 
That  man's  but  a  picture  of  what  I  might  be  ; 
But  thanks  to  my   friends  for  their  care  in  my 

breeding, 
Who  taught  me  betimes  to  love  working  and  read- 


ing 


p? 


m)^m^ 


1$^ 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


MISCHIEF  ITS  OWN  PUNISHMENT,  EXEMPLIFIED  IN 
THE  HISTORY  OF  WILLIAM  AND  HARRY. 

Mr.  Stevenson  and  his  little  son  Richard,  as 
they  were  one  fine  day  walking  in  the  fields  toge- 
ther, passed  by  the  side  of  a  garden,  in  which  they 
saw  a  beautiful  pear-tree  loaded  with  fruit.  Richard 
cast  a  longing  eye  at  it,  and  complained  to  his  pa- 
pa that  he  was  very  dry.  On  Mr.  Stevenson's  say- 
ing that  he  was  dry  also,  but  they  must  bear  it 
with  patience  till  they  got  home,  Richard  point- 
ed  to  the  pear-tree,  and  begged  his  papa  would 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  151 

let  him  go  and  get  one  *,  for  as  the  hedge  was  not 
very  thick,  he  said  he  could  easily  get  through, 
without  being  seen  by  any  one. 

Richard's  father  reminded  him,  that  the  garden 
and  fruit  were  private  property,  and  to  take  any- 
thing from  thence  without  permission  was  nothing 
less  than  being  guilty  of  a  robbery.  He  allowed, 
that  there  might  be  a  possibility  of  getting  into 
the  garden  without  being  seen  by  the  owner  of  it  5 
but  such  a  wicked  action  could  not  be  concealed 
from  him,  who  sees  every  action  of  our  lives,  and 
who  penetrates  even  into  the  very  secrets  of  our 
hearts ;  and  that  is  God. 

His  son  shook  his  head,  and  said,  he  was  sensi- 
ble of  his  error,  and  would  no  more  think  of  com- 
mitting what  might  be  called  a  robbery.  He  re- 
collected, that  parson  Jackson  had  told  him  the 
same  thing  before,  but  he  had  then  forgotten  it. 

At  this  instant  a  man  started  up  from  behind  the 
hedge,  which  had  before  concealed  him  from  their 
sight.  This  was  an  old  man,  the  owner  of  the 
garden,  who  had  heard  every  thing  that  had  pas- 
sed between  Mr.  Stevenson  and  his  son.  "  Be 
thankful  to  God,  my  child,  said  the  old  man,  that 
your  father  prevented  your  getting  into  my  gar- 
den with  the  view  to  deprive  me  of  that  which 
does  not  belong  to  you.     You  little  thought,  that 


152  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

at  the  foot  of  each  tree  is  placed  a  trap  to  catcli 
thieves,  which  you  could  not  have  escaped,  and 
which  might  have  lamed  you  for  the  rest  of  your 
life.  I  am  however  happy  to  find,  that  you  so 
readily  listened  to  the  first  admonition  of  your  fa- 
ther, and  shewed  such  a  fear  of  offending  God.  As 
you  have  behaved  in  so  just  and  sensible  a  manner, 
you  shall  now,  without  any  danger  or  trouble,  par- 
take of  the  fruit  of  my  garden."  He  then  went 
to  the  finest  pear-tree,  gave  it  a  shake,  and  brought 
down  near  a  hat-full  of  fruit,  which  he  immediate- 
ly gave  to  Richard. 

This  civil  old  man  could  not  be  prevailed  on  to 
accept  of  any  thing  in  return,  though  Mr.  Steven- 
son pulled  out  his  purse  for  that  purpose.  "  I  am 
sufficiently  satisfied,  sir,  said  he,  in  thus  obliging 
your  son,  and  were  I  to  accept  of  any  thing,  that 
satisfaction  would  be  lost."  Mr  Stevenson  thjmk- 
ed  him  kindly,  and,  having  shaken  hands  over  the 
hedge,  they  parted,  Richard  at  the  same  time  tak- 
ing leave  of  the  old  man  in  a  polite  manner. 

Little  Richard,  having  finished  several  of  the 
pears,  began  to  find  himself  at  leisure  to  talk  to 
his  papa.  This  is  a  very  good  old  man,  said  he, 
but  would  God  have  punished  me,  had  I  taken 
these  pears  without  his  leave  ?"  ««  He  certainly 
would,  replied  Mr.  Stevenson,  for  he  never  fails  to 


THE   LOOKING-GLA^.  153 

reward  good  actions,  and  chastise  those  who  com- 
mit evil.  The  good  old  man  fully  explained  to 
you  this  matter,  in  telling  you  of  the  traps  laid  for 
thieves,  into  which  you  must  have  inevitably  fal- 
len, had  you  entered  his  garden  in  a  clandestine 
manner.  God  orders  every  thing  that  passes  upon 
earth,  and  directs  events  so  as  to  reward  good  peo- 
ple for  virtuous  actions,  and  to  punish  the  wicked 
for  their  crimes.  In  order  to  make  this  more  clear 
to  you,  I  will  relate  to  you  an  affair  which  happen- 
ed when  I  was  a  boy,  and  which  I  shall  never  for- 
get." Richard  seemed  very  attentive  to  his  father, 
and  having  said  he  should  be  very  glad  to  hear  his 
story,  Mr.  Stevenson  thus  proceeded. 

<^  When  I  lived  with  my  father,  and  was  much 
about  your  age,  we  had  two  neighbours,  between 
whose  houses  ours  was  situated,  and  their  names 
were  Davis  and  Johnson.  Mr.  Davis  had  a  son 
named  William,  and  Mr.  Johnson  one  also  of  the 
name  of  Harry.  Our  gardens  were  at  that  time  se- 
parated only  by  quickset  hedges,  so  that  it  v/as  ea- 
sy  to  see  into  each  other's  grounds. 

<'  It  was  too  often  the  practice  with  William, 
when  he  found  himself  alone  in  his  father's  garden, 
to  take  pleasure  in  throwing  stones  over  the  hedges, 
without  paying  the  least  regard  to  the  mischief 
they  might  do.  Mr.  Davis  had  frequently  caught 
O 


15d'  THE  LOOKlKG-GLASb". 

Iiim  at  this  dangerous  sport,  and  never  failed  se- 
verely to  reprimand  him  for  it,  threatening  him 
with  severe  punishment  if  he  did  not  disist. 

"  This  child,  unhappily,  either  knew  not,  or 
would  not  take  the  trouble  to  reflect  that  we  are 
not  to  do  amiss,  even  when  we  are  alone,  for  rea- 
sons I  have  already  mentioned  to  you.  His  father 
being  one  day  gone  out,  and  therefore  thinking 
that  nobody  could  see  him,  or  bring  him  to  pun- 
ishment, he  filled  his  pockets  with  stones,  and  then 
began  to  fling  them  about  at  random. 

"  Mr.  Johnson  happened  to  be  in  his  garden  at 
the  same  time,  and  his  son  Harry  with  him.  This 
boy  was  much  of  the  same  disposition  as  William, 
thinking  there  was  no  crime  in  committing  any 
mischief,  provided  he  were  not  discovered.  His 
father  had  a  gun  charged,  which  he  brought  into 
the  garden  in  order  to  shoot  the  sparrows  that 
made  sad  havock  among  his  cherries,  and  was  set- 
tini]:  in  a  summer-house  to  watch  them. 

«  At  this  instant,  a  servant  came  to  acquaint 
him,  that  a  strange  gentleman  desired  to  speak  with 
him,  and  was  waiting  in  the  parlour.  He  there- 
fore put  down  the  gun  in  the  summer-house,  and 
strictly  ordered  Harry  by  no  means  to  touch  it  ; 
but  he  was  no  sooner  gone,  than  his  naughty  son 
said  to  himself,  that  he  could  see  no  harm  in  play- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  1^5 

ing  a  little  with  the  gun,  and  therefore  took  it  up, 
put  it  on  his  shoulder,  and  endeavoured  to  act  the 
part  of  a  soldier. 

"  The  muzzle  ot  the  gun  happened  to  be  point- 
ed towards  Mr.  Davis's  garden,  and  just  as  he  was 
in  the  midst  of  his  military  exercises,  a  stone 
thrown  by  William  hit  him  directly  in  one  of  his 
eyes.  The  fright  and  pain  together  made  Harry 
drop  the  gun,  which  went  off,  and  in  a  moment 
both  gardens  resounded  with  the  most  dismal 
shrieks  and  lamentations.  Harry  had  received  a 
blow  in  the  eye  with  a  stone,  and  the  whole  charge 
had  entered  William's  leg.  The  sad  consequences 
of  which  were,  the  one  lost  his  eye,  and  the  other 
a  leg." 

Richard  could  not  help  pitying  poor  William 
and  Harry  for  their  terrible  misfortune  ;  and  Mr. 
Stephenson  was  not  angry  with  his  son  for  his  ten- 
derness: '^  It  is  true  (said  he)  they  were  much  to 
be  pitied,  and  their  parents  still  more,  £pr  having 
such  vicious  and  disobedient  children.  Yet  it  is 
probable,  if  God  had  not  early  punished  these  boys, 
they  would  have  continued  their  mischievous  prac- 
tices as  often  as  they  should  find  themselves  alone  5 
but  by  these  misfortunes  they  learned  to  know,  that 
God  publicly  punishes  all  wickedness  done  in  se- 
cret.    This  had  the  desired  effect,  as  both  ever 


156  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

after  left  off  all  kinds  of  mischief,  and  became  pru- 
dent and  sedate.  Certain  it  is  that  an  all-wise 
Creator  never  chastises  us  but  with  a  view  to  add 
to  our  happiness. 

Richard  was  very  much  struck  with  this  story, 
and  said  he  hoped  he  should  never  lose  either  a  leg 
or  an  eye  by  such  imprudent  conduct.  This  inte- 
resting conversation  was.  interrupted  by  their  arri- 
-val  at  their  own  house,  \men  Richard  hastened  to 
find  his  brothers  and  sistets,  to  tell  them  the  ad- 
ventures of  his  walk,  and  the  history  of  William 
and  Harry. 

Why  should  I  deprive  my  neighbour 
Of  his  pears  against  his  wiltV 
Hands  were  made  for  honest  labour, 
Not  to  plunder  or  to  steal. 

'Tis  a  foolish,  self  deceiving, 
By  such  tricks  to  hope  for  gain  : 
All  that*s  ever  got  by  thieving. 
Turns  to  sorrow,  shame,  and  pain. 

Have  not  Eve  and  Adam  taught  us 
Their  sad  conduct  to  compute  ? 
To  what  dismal  state  they  brought  us  j 
When  they  stole  forbidden  fruit  ! 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


157 


Oft  we  see  a  young  beginner 
Practice  little  pilPring  ways, 
Till  grown  up  a  harden'd  sinner  ; 
Then  the  gallows  ends  his  days. 

Theft  will  not  be  always  hidden, 
Though  we  fancy  none  can  spy  : 
When  we  take  a  thing  forbidden, 
God  beholds  it  with  his  eye. 


Ol: 


Jt58 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


ANTHONY  AND  AUGUSTUS  ;    OR,    A  RATIONAL  EDU- 
CATION   PREFERABLE  TO  RICHES. 

A  VERY  early  friendship  commenced  between 
Anthony  and  Augustus,  who  were  nearly  of  an  age, 
and  as  they  were  neighbours,  they  were  almost  in- 
separable companions.  The  father  of  Anthony, 
whose  name  was  Lenox,  possessed  a  very  lucrative 
employment  under  government,  and  wa§  besides 
possessed  of  a  considerable  fortune*,  but  Mr.  Little- 
ton, the  father  of  Augustus,  was  not  in  such  afHu- 
ent  circumstances,  though  he  lived  contentedly, 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  159 

and  turned  all  his  thoughts  to  the  welfare  and  hap- 
piness of  his  son,  in  giving  him  a  well  grounded 
education,  which  he  thought  might  prove  of  more 
advantage  to  him  than  riches,  or,  at  least,  might 
anxply  supply  the  place  of  them. 

As  soon  as  Augustus  was  nine  years  of  age,  he 
was  accustomed  to  bodily  exercise,  and  his  mind 
inured  to  study,  which  at  once  contributed  to  im- 
prove his  health,  strength  and  understanding. 
Being  thus  used  to  exercise  and  motion,  he  was 
healthy  and  robust ;  and  being  contented  and  hap- 
py in  the  affection  of  his  parents,  he  enjoyed^, 
tranquil  cheerfulness,  which  much  influenced  those 
who  enjoyed  his  company. 

Anthony  was  one  of  his  happy  companions,  who 
was  always  at  a  loss  for  amusement  when  Augus- 
tus  was  absent ;  and  in  that  case,  in  order  to  fill  up 
his  time  he  was  continually  eating  without  being 
hungry,  drinking  without  being  dry,  and  slumber- 
ing without  being  sleepy.  This  naturally  brought 
on  a  weak  habit  of  body,  and  frequent  head-aches. 

BoDi  parents  ardently  wished  to  see  their  ch'iU 
dren  healthy  and  happy  ;  but  Mr.  Lenox  unfor- 
tunately pursued  that  object  in  a  wrong  channel, 
by  bringing  up  !bis  son  even  from  his  cradle,  in 
the  most  excessive  delicacy.  He  was  not  suffered 
to  lift  himself  a  chair,  whenever  he  had  a  mind  to 


160  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

change  his  seat,  but  a  servant  was  called  for  that 
purpose.  He  was  dressed  and  undressed  by  other 
people,  and  even  the  cutting  of  his  own  victuals 
seemed  a  pain  to  him. 

While  Augustus,  in  a  thin  linen  jacket,  assisted 
his  father  to  cultivate  a  small  garden  for  their 
amusement,  Anthony,  in  a  rich  .velvet  coat  was 
lolling  in  a  coach,  and  paying  morning  visits  with 
his  mamma.  If  he  went  abroad  to  enjoy  the  air, 
and  got  out  of  the  carriage  but  for  a  minute,  his 
great  coat  was  put  on,  and  a  handkerchief  tied 
rx)und  his  neck,  to  prevent  his  catching  cold. 
Thus  accustomed  to  be  humoured  to  excess  he 
wished  for  every  thing  he  saw  or  could  think  of  ; 
but  his  wish  was  no  sooner  obtained,  than  he  be- 
came tired  of  it,  and  was  constantly  unhappy  in 
the  pursuit  of  new  objects. 

As  the  servants  had  strict  orders  to  obey  him 
with  implicit  submission,  he  became  so  whimsical 
and  imperious,  that  he  was  hated  and  despised  by 
every  one  in  the  house,  excepting  his  parents.  Au- 
gustus was  his  only  companion  who  loved  h.i%,  and 
it  was  upon  that  account  he  patiently  put  up  with 
his  humours.  He  was  so  perfectly  master  of  his 
temper,  that  he  would  at  times  make  him  as  good 
humoured  as  himself. 

Mr.  Lenox  would  sometimes  ask  Augustus,  how 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  i61 

he  contrived  to  be  always  so  merry  ?  To  which  he 
one  day  answered  that  his  father  had  told  him,  that 
no  person  could  be  perfectly  happy,  unless  they 
mixed  some  kind  of  employment  with  their  plea- 
sures. « I  have  frequently  observed,  (continued 
Augustus)  that  the  most  tedious  and  dull  days  I  ex- 
perience, are  those,  in  which  I  do  no  kind  of  work. 
It  is  properly  blending  exercise  with  amusement 
that  keeps  me  in  ^uch  good  health  and  spirits.. 
I  fear  neither  the  winds  nor  the  rain,  neither  the- 
heat  of  summer  nor  the  cold  of  winter,  and  I 
have  frequently  dug  up  a  whole  plat  in  my  garden 
before  Anthony  has  quitted  his  pil!ow  in  the 
morning/* 

Mr.  Lenox  felt  the  propriety  of  such  conduct, 
and  a  sigh  unavoidably  escaped  him.  He  then 
went  to  consult  Mr.  Littleton  in  what  manner  he 
should  act,  in  order  to  make  Anthony  as  hearty 
and  robust  as  Augustus.  Mr.  Littleton  informed 
him  in  what  manner  he  treated  his  son.  «  Phe 
powers  of  the  body  and  the  mind,  (said  he)  should 
be  equally  kept  in  exercise,  unless  we  mean  them 
to  be  unserviceable,  as  money  buried  in  the  ground 
would  be  to  its  owner.  Nothing  can  be  more  in- 
jurious to  the  health  and  happiness  of  children, 
than  using  them  to  excess  of  delicacy,  and,  under 
tiie  idea  of  pleasing  them,  to  indulge  them  in  their 


1^2  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

whimsical  and  obstinate  humours.  The  person  who 
has  been  accustomed  from  his  childhood  to  have 
his  wishes  flattered  will  be  exposed  to  many  vexa- 
tious disappointments.  He  will  sigh  after  those 
things,  the  want  or  possession  of  which  will  equally 
make  him  miserable.  I  have,  however,  every  rea- 
son to  believe,  that  Augustus  will  never  be  that . 
man."  "\ 

Mr.  Lenox  saw  the  truth  of  those  arguments, 
and  determined  to  adopt  the  same  plan  for  the 
treatment  of  his  son.  But  it  was  now  too  late  for 
Anthony  was  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  his  mind, 
and  body  so  much  enervated,  that  he  could  not 
bear  the  least  fatiguing  exertions.  His  mother, 
who  was  as  weak  as  himself,  begged  of  her  husband 
not  to  tease  their  darling,  and  he  was  at  last  obliged 
to  give  way  to  her  importunities,  when  Anthony 
again  sunk  into  his  former  destructive  effeminacy. 
The  strength  of  his  body  declined,  in  proportion 
as  his  mind  was  degraded  by  ignorance. 

As  soon  as  Anthony  had  entered  his  seventeenth 
year,  his  parents  sent  him  to  the  university,  in- 
tending to  bring  him  up  to  the  study  of  the  law  j 
and  Augustus  being  intended  for  the  same  profes- 
sion, he  accompanied  him  thither.  Augustus,  io 
his  different  studies  and  pursuits,  had  never  had 
any  other  instructor  thaG  his  father ;  while  Antho- 


THE    LOOKING-GLASS.  163 

ny  had  as  many  masters  as  there  are  different  sci- 
ences, from  whom  he  learned  only  a  superficial 
education  by  retaining  little  more  than  the  terms 
used  in  the  different  branches  he  had  studied.  Au- 
gustus, on  the  contrary,  was  like  a  garden,  whose 
airy  situation  admits  the  rays  of  the  sun  to  every 
*part  of  it,  and  in  which  every  seed  by  a  proper 
cultivation,  advances  rapidly  to  perfection.  Al- 
ready well  instructed,  he  still  thirsted  after  further 
knowledge,  and  his  diligence  and  good  behaviour 
afforded  a  pattern  for  imitation  to  all  his  compa- 
nions. The  mildness  of  his  temper,  and  his  viva- 
city and  sprightly  humour,  made  his  company  at 
all  times  desirable ;  he  was  universally  beloved, 
and  every  one  was  his  friend. 

Anthony  was  at  first  happy  on  being  in  the  same 
room  with  Augustus  •,  but  his  pride  was  soon  hurt 
on  seeing  the  preference  that  was  given  by  every 
one  to  his  friend,  and  he  could  not  think  of  any 
longer  submitting  to  so  mortifying  a  distinction. 
He  therefore  found  some  frivolous  excuse,  and 
forsook  the  company  of  Augustus. 

Anthony,  having  now  nobody  to  advise  or  check 
him,  gave  loose  to  his  vitiated  taste  and  wandered 
from  pleasure  to  pleasure  in  search  of  happiness. 
It  will  be  to  little  purpose  to  say,  ho\v  often  he 
hlushed  at  his  own  conduct ;  but  being  hardened 


164<  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

by  a  repetition  of  his  follies,  he  gradually  fell  into 
the  grossest  irregularities.  To  be  short,  he  at  last 
returned  home  with  the  seeds  of  a  mortal  distemper 
in  his  bosom,  and  after  languishing  a  few  months, 
expired  in  the  greatest  agonies. 

Some  time  after,  Augustus  returned  home  to 
his  parents,  possessed  of  an  equal  stock  of  learning 
and  prudence,  his  departure  from  the  university 
being  regretted  both  by  his  teachers  and  compa- 
nions. It  may  easily  be  supposed,  that  his  family 
teceived  him  with  transports  of  joy.  You  know 
not,  my  little  readers,  how  pleasing  are  those  ten- 
der parental  feelings,  which  raise  from  the  pros- 
pect of  seing  their  children  beloved  and  respect- 
ed :  His  parents  thought  themselves  the  happiest 
t)f  people,  and  tears  of  joy  filled  their  eyes  when 
they  beheld  him. 

Augustus  had  not  been  long  at  home,  before 
a  considerable  employment  in  his  profession  was 
conferred  on  him,  with  the  unanimous  approbation 
of  all  who  were  acquainted  with  his  character. 
This  enabled  him  to  gratify  his  generous  desire 
of  promoting  the  felicity  of  his  friends,  and  a  sense 
of  their  happiness  added  to  his  own.  He  was  the 
comfort  of  his  parents  in  the  evening  of  their 
lives,  and  with  interest  repaid  their  attention  and 
care  of  liim  in  his  childhood.     An  amiable  wife, 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  165 

equally  endued  with  sense,  virtue,  and  beauty, 
who  bore  him  children  like  himself,  completed 
his  happiness. 

In  the  characters  of  Anthony  and  Augustus,  we 
see  the  fatal  consequences  of  giving  way  to  folly 
and  vice,  and  what  a  happy  effect  the  contrary  con- 
duct has.  Anthony  fell  a  victim  to  the  misguided 
indulgence  of  his  parents,  while  Augustus  lived 
to  be  happy  by  the  prudent  management  he  re-= 
ceived  in  his  infancy. 

Queen  of  all  virtues  !  for  whatever  we  call 
Sublime  and  great,  'tis  thou  obtain'st  it  all. 
No  task  too  arduous  for  thy  strong  essay. 
And  art  and  nature  own  thy  potent  sway. 
The  sage  whilst  learning  studious  he  pursues, 
By  force  the  stubborn  sciences  subdues  : 
Thro'  truth's  wide  fields  expatiates  unconfin'd, 
And  stores  forever  his  capacious  mind. 


16$ 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS, 


THE  DESTRUCTIVE  CONSEQUENCES  OF  DISSIPATION 
AND    LUXURY. 


ON  a  fine  evening,  in  the  midst  of  summer,  Mr. 
Drake  and  his  son  Albert  took  a  walk  in  some  of 
the  most  agreeable  environs  of  the  city.  The  sky 
was  clear,  the  air  cool,  and  the  purling  streams, 
and  gentle  zephyrs  rustling  in  the  trees,  lulled  the 
mind  into  an  agreeable  gloom.  Albert,  enchant- 
ed with  the  natural  beauties  which  surrounded  him, 
could  not  help  exclaiming,  «  What  a  lovely  even- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  167 

ing  !"  He  pressed  his  father's  hand  and  looking  up 
to  him,  said,  «*  You  know  not  papa,  what  thoughts 
rise  in  my  heart !  He  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
and  then  looking  towards  heaven,  his  eyes  moist- 
ened with  tears,  «  I  thank  God,  said  he,  for  the 
happy  moments  he  now  permits  me  to  enjoy  !  Had 
I  my  wish,  every  one  should  taste  the  beauties  of 
this  evening  as  I  do.  Were  1  king  of  a  large  coun- 
try, I  would  make  my  subjects  perfectly  happy." 

Mr.  Drake  embraced  his  son  and  told  him,  that 
the  benevolent  wish  he  had  just  uttered  came  from 
a  heart  as  generoiis  as  it  was  humane.  "  But 
would  not  your  thoughts  change  with  your  for- 
^^tune  ?  Are  you  certain,  that  in  an  exalted  station 
_you  should  preserve  the  sentiments,  which  now  an- 
imate  you  in  that  middle  state,  in  which  it  has 
pleased  heaven  to  place  you  ?" 

Albert  was  a  little  surprised  that  his  father 
should  ask  such  a  question  •,  for  he  had  no  idea 
that  riches  could  bring  with  them  cruelty  and 
wickedness. 

INIr.  Drake  told  him,  that  indeed  was  not  aU 
ways  the  case.  <«  The  v/orld  has  produced  fortu- 
nate persons,  said  he,  who  have  remembered  their 
past  distresses,  and  have  always  retained  the  most 
charitable  ideas  for  the  unfortunate  ;  but  we  too 
olten^  see  what   is  a  disgrace  to  the  human  heart, 


168  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

that  a  change  of  fortune  alters  the  n\ost  tender 
and  sympathetic  affections.  While  we  ourselves 
labour  under  misfortunes,  we  look  upon  it  as  a  duty 
incumbent  on  every  man  to  assist  us.  Should 
the  hand  of  God  relieve  us,  we  then  think  that  all 
his  intentions  in  the  preservation  of  the  world  are 
answered,  and  too  often  cease  to  remember  those 
unfortunate  wretches,  who  remain  in  the  gulph 
from  which  we  have  been  rescued.  You  may  see  an 
instance  of  this  in  the  man,  who  frequently  comes 
to  beg  charity  of  me,  whom  I  relieve  with  reluc- 
tance, and  cannot  but  censure  myself  for  so  doing. 

Albert  told  his  father  that  he  had  frequently  ob- 
served how  coolly  he  put  money  into  his  hands, 
without  speaking  to  him  in  that  tender  language, 
whidh  he  generally  used  to  other  poor  people.  He 
therefore  begged  his  father  would  tell  him  what 
could  be  his  reason  for  it. 

« I  will  tell  you,  my  dear,  said  Mr.  Drake,  what 
has  been  his  conduct,  and  then  leave  you  to  judge 
how  far  I  do  right.  Mr.  Mason  was  a  linen  dra- 
per in  Cheapside  ;  and,  though  the  profits  of  his 
business  were  but  moderate,  yet  a  poor  person  ne- 
ver asked  his  charity  in  vain.  This  he  viewed  as 
his  most  pleasing  extravagance,  and  he  considered 
himself  happy  in  the  enjoyment  of  It,  though  he 
could  not  pursue  this  indulgence  to  the  extent  of 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  %€^ 

his  wishes.  Business  one  day  calling  him  on  'Change 
he  heard  a  number  of  capital  merchants  talking 
together  of  vast  cargoes,  and  the  immense  profits 
to  be  expected  from  them.  Ah  1  said  he  how- 
happy  these  people  are  !  Were  I  as  rich,  heaven 
knows,  I  should  not  make  money  my  idol,  for 
the  poor  should  plentifully  partake  of  my  abun- 
dance." 

<«  This  man  went  home  with  a  bosom  full  of  am» 
bitious  thoughts  ;  but  his  circumstances  were  too 
narrow  to  embrace  his  vast  projects,  as  it  required 
no  small  share  of  prudence  in  the  management  of 
his  affairs,  to  make  every  thing  meet  at  the  end  of 
the  year.  '  Ah  !  cried  he,  I  shall  never  get  for- 
ward, nor  rise  above  the  middHng  condition,  in 
which  I  at  present  linger." 

**  In  the  midst  of  these  gloomy  thoughts,  a  paper^ 
inviting  adventurers  to  purchase  shares  in  the  lot° 
tery  was  put  into  his  hand.  He  seemed  as  if  inspir- 
ed by  Fortune,  and  caught  the  idea  immediately. 
Without  considering  the  inconvenience  to  which 
his  covetousness  might  reduce  him,  he  hastened  to 
the  lottery  office,  and  there  laid  out  four  guineas; 
From  this  moment  he  waited  with  impatience  for 
the  drawing,  nor  could  he  find  repose  even  at  night 
on  his  pillow.  He  sometimes  repented  of  having 
so  foolishly  hazarded  what  he  could  not  well  bear 


4*J0  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

the  loss  of,  and  at  other  times  he  fancied  he  saw 
riches  pouring  in  upon  him  from  all  quarters. 
At  last  the  drawing  began,  and,  in  the  midst  of  his 
hopes  and  fears,  Fortune  favoured  him  with  a 
prize  of  five  thousand  pounds. 

"  Having  received  his  money,  he  thought  of  no- 
thing else  for  several  days  ;  but  when  his  imagina- 
tion had  cooled  a  little,  he  began  to  think  what 
use  he  should  make  of  it.  He  therefore  increased 
his  stock,  extended  his  business,  and  by  care  and 
assiduity  in  trade  soon  doubled  his  capital.  In  less 
than  ten  years,  he  became  one  of  the  most  consi- 
derable men  in  the  city,  and  hitherto  he  had  punc- 
tually kept  his  promise,  in  being  the  friend  and 
patron  to  the  poor  ;  for  the  sight  of  an  unfortunate 
person  always  put  him  in  mind  of  his  former  con- 
dition and  pleaded  powerfully  in  behalf  of  the  dis- 
tressed. 

"  As  he  now  frequented  gay  company,  he  by 
degrees  began  to  contract  a  habit  of  luxury  and 
dissipation ;  he  purchased  a  splendid  country-house 
with  elegant  gardens,  and  his  life  became  a  scene 
of  uninterrupted  pleasures  and  amusements.  All 
this  extravagance,  however,  soon  convinced  him, 
that  he  was  considerably  reducing  his  fortune  ; 
and  his  trade  which  he  had  given  up,  to  be  the 
more  at  leisure  for  the  enjoyment  of  his  pleasures. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS,  17 1 

no  longer  enabled  him  to  repair  it.  Besides,  hav- 
ing been  so  long  accustomed  to  put  no  restraint  on 
his  vanity  and  pride,  he  could  not  submit  to  the 
meanness  of  lessening  his  expenses.  *  I  shall  always 
have  enough  for  myself,  thought  he,  and  let  others 
take  care  of  themselves/ 

"  As  his  fortune  decreased,  so  did  his  feelings 
for  the  distressed,  and  his  heart  grew  callous  to  the 
cries  of  misery,  as  with  indifference  we  hear  the 
roaring  tempest  when  sheltered  from  its  fury. 
Friends,  whom  he  had  till  then  still  supported, 
came  as  usual  to  implore  his  bounty  •,  but  he  receiv- 
ed them  roughly,  and  forbid  them  his  house.  «Am 
I  said  he,  to  squander  my  fortune  upon  you  ?  Do 
as  I  have  cfSie,  and  get  one  for  yourselves  ? 

'^  His-  poor  unhappy  mother,  from  whom  he 
had  taken  half  the  pension  he  used  to  allow  her, 
carfte  to  beg  a  corner  in  any  part  of  his  house, 
where  sKe  might  finish  her  few  remaining  days  ; 
but  he  was  so  cruel  as  to  refuse  her  request,  and 
with  the  utmost  indifference  saw  her  perish  for 
want.  The  measure  of  his  crimes,  however,  was 
now  nearly  filled.  His  wealth  was  all  soon  exhaust- 
ed in  debaucheries  and  other  excesses,  and  he  had 
neither  the  inclination  nor  ability  to  return  to 
trade.  Misery  soon  overtook  him,  and  brought 
him  to  that  state  in  which  you  now  see  him.     He 


172  THE   LOOiClNG' GLASS. 

begs  his  bread  from  door  to  door,  an  object  of 
contempt  and  detestation  to  all  honest  people, 
and  a  just  example  of  the  indignation  of  the  Al- 
mighty. 

••'  Albert  told  his  father,  that  if  fortune  made 
men  so  wicked  and  miserable,  he  wished  to  remain 
as  he  was,  above  pity,  and  secure  from  contempt. 

"  Think  often,  my  dear  child,  said  his  father  ta 
him,  of  this  story,  and  learn  from  this  example, 
that  no  true  happiness  can  be  enjoyed,  unless  we 
feel  for  the  misfortunes  of  others.  It  is  the  rich 
man's  duty,  to  relieve  the  distresses  oj .  the  poor, 
and  in  this,  more  solid  pleasure  is  found,  than  can 
be  expected  from  the  enervating  excesses  of  luxu- 
ry and  pomp. 

The  sun  was  now  sinking  beneath  the  horizon, 
and  his  parting  beams  reflected  a  lively  glow  upon 
the  clouds,  which  seemed  to  form  a  purple  curtain 
round  his  bed.  'Ihe  air  freshened  by  the  approach 
of  evening,  breathed  an  agreeable  calm  ;  and  the 
leathered  inhabitants  of  the  grove  sung  their  fare- 
wel  song  The  wind  rustling  among  the  trees  ad- 
ded a  gentle  murmur  to  the  concert,  and  every 
thing  seemed  to  inspire  joy  and  happiness,  while 
Albert  and  his  father  returned  to  their  house  with 
thoughtful  and  pensive  steps. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  17' 


For  him  who  lost  to  ev'ry  hope  of  life. 
Has  long  with  fortune  held  unequal  strife. 
Known  to  no  human  love,  no  human  care. 
The  friendless,  hopeless  object  of  despair  •, 
For  the  poor  vagrant  seat,  while  he  complains, 
Nor  from  sad  freedom  send  to  sadder  chains. 
Alike,  if  folly  or  misfortune  brought 
Those  last  of  woes  his  evil  days  have  wrought  ? 
Relieve  with  social  mercy,  and,  with  me, 
Folly's  misfortune  in  the  first  degree. 

Perhaps  on  some  inhospitable  shore 
The  houseless  wretch  a  widow'd  parent  bore; 
Who,  then  no  more  by  golden  prospects  led, 
Of  the  poor  Indian  begg'd  a  leafy  bed. 
Cold  on  Canadian  hills,  or  Mindin's  plain, 
Perhaps  that  parent  mourn'd  her  soldier  slain : 
Bent  o'er  her  babe,  her  eye  dissolved  in  dew. 
The  big  drops  mingling  with  the  milk  he  drew, 
Gave  the  sad  presage  of  his  future  years, 
The  child  of  misery  baptiz'd  in  tears  1 


174 


THE  LOOtfUNG-GLASi 


WILLIAM  AND  AMELIA. 


IN  a  pleasant  village,  at  some  distance  from  the 
metropolis,  lived  lord  and  lady  Russel  who  had 
brought  up  an  orphan  named  William,  from  his 
infancy,  and  had  a  stranger  to  the  family  seen  in 
what  a  tender  manner  he  was  treated,  he  would 
have  supposed  him  to  be  their  son.  This  amiable 
couple  had  only  one  child  living,  a  daughter,  nam- 
ed Amelia,  who  was  nearly  of  the  same  age  with 
William,  and  the  lady  was  pleased  to  see  that  the 
two  children  had  som.ething  beyond  a  common  at- 
tachment for  each  other. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  l75 

William  and  Amelia  were  one  fine  summer  morn- 
ing sauntering  in  the  orchard  with  their  Httle 
friend  Charlotte,  whose  parents  lived  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. Of  these  two  little  misses,  Amelia  was 
the  youngest,  and  not  quite  eight  years  of  age. 
They  were  walking  arm  in  arm,  and  humming 
over  a  pretty  song,  then  fashionable  in  the  village 
collection  of  ballads.  At  the  same  time  William 
was  walking  before  them,  at  some  little  distance, 
amusing  himself  with  a  shepherd's  pipe. 

While  AmeUa  and  Charlotte  were  thus  ram- 
bling about,  they  cast  their  eyes  on  some  beautiful 
apples  that  hung  on  a  fine  tree,  from  which  all  the 
fruit  had  been  supposed  to  be  gathered,  bat  the 
branches  had  hidden  some  from  view,  and  in 
course  had  escaped  the  notice  of  the  gatherers. 
The  beautiful  vermilion,  with  which  these  apples 
were  tinged,  and  which  the  leaves  could  not  en- 
tirely hide,  seemingly  invited  the  hand  to  come 
and  take  them.  William  instantly  climbed  the  tree 
they  were  admiring,  and  threw  down  as  many  ap- 
ples as  he  could  reachj  while  the  ladies  below  held 
their  aprons  to  catch  them  as  they  fell. 

Chance  so  directed  it,  that  two  or  three,  which 
were  considered  as  the  finest,  fell  into  the  apron  of 
C'lrt.iOtte,  who  was  much  pleased  with  this  acci- 
dental distribution,  as  she  might  with  reason  have 


176  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

been,  had  a  premeditated  preference  been  the 
cause  of  it,  for  William  was  in  reality  the  politest 
and  prettiest  little  fellow  in  the  village. 

Charlotte,  with  joy  and  triumph  in  her  eyes, 
thus  addressed  herself  to  Amelia:  "Only  see  how 
fine  and  large  my  apples  are,  while  yours  are  no- 
thing to  compare  to  them !"  Amelia  was  very 
much  displeased  with  these  words,  she  hung  down 
her  head,  and  putting  on  a  serious  countenance^ 
remained  silent  during  the  remainder  of  the  walk. 
William,  by  an  hundred  assiduities,  endeavoured 
to  recover  Amelia's  cheerfulness,  again  to  spread 
a  smile  on  her  clouded  countenance,  and  make  her 
renew  her  usual  pleasing  prattle. 

As  soon  as  they  arrived  near  home,  Charlotte 
took  her  leave.  Little  William  then  addressed  his 
sister,  for  by  that  tender  name  he  always  called  her, 
and  asked  her  why  she  seemed  so  angry  with  him. 
<'  Certainly,  said  he,  you  cannot  be  angry  at  Char- 
lotte having  her  share  of  the  apples.  You  very 
well  know  that  I  always  loved  you  best,  and  there- 
fore endeavoured  to  throw  into  your  apron  those 
apples,  which  by  chance,  fell  into  Charlbtte's. 
You  must  be  sensible,  that  I  could  not  afterwards 
take  them  from  her.  Besides,  I  thought  you  of  too 
generous  a  disposition  to  take  notice  of  such  trifles. 
Be  assured,  the  first  opportunity  that  shall  offer  I 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS,  lT7 

will  give  you  a  convincing  proof  that  I  had  no  de- 
sign to  vex  you,  whatever  you  may  at  present  think 
of  my  intentions." 

« Very  pretty,  indeed,  Mr.  William !  replied 
Amelia  with  a  look  of  uneasiness  and  disdain.  Pray 
who  told  you  that  I  was  vexed  ?  Suppose  miss 
Charlotte's  apples  had  been  ten  times  finer  than 
mine,  would  that  be  any  consideration  to  me?  You 
very  well  know,  sir,  that  I  am  no  glutton  ;  neither 
should  I  have  taken  notice  of  the  preference  you 
shewed  her,  had  it  not  been  for  that  saucy  crea- 
ture's looks,  I  never  wish  to  see  her  more  ;  and  as 
for  you,  fall  on  your  knees  this  instant,  or  I  never 
will  forgive  you  while  I  live. 

Little  William  could  not  tliink  of  submitting  to 
such  an  indignity,  as  that  would  be  confessing  a 
fault  of  which  he  was  not  guilty,  and  therefore  now 
stood  more  upright  than  before.  « I  am  no  story- 
teller, miss  Amelia,  said  he,  and  therefore  it  is 
very  wrong  in  you  not  to  believe  what  I  so  posi- 
tively aiiirm,  for  I  certainly  had  no  design  to  vex 
l-ou. 

"'  •'"Very  wrong  in  me,  sir!  replied  Amelia. 
That  is  very  pretty  indeed  1  But  you  need  not; 
thus  affront  me,  because  miss  Charlotte  is  your 
favourite  !"  So  saying,  and  bestowing  a  contemptu- 
O 


ITS  THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 

ous  courtesy  on  him,  she  left  him  with  r.n  affected 
air  of  scorn  and  contempt. 

Dinner  being  now  ready,  they  sat  down  at  table, 
but  pouted  at  each  other  all  the  time  it  lasted. 
Amelia  would  not  once  drink,  in  order  to  avoid 
saying,  '« Your  good  health  William,"  And  Wil- 
liam, on  his  part,  was  so  vexed  at  her  treatmetJt 
of  him,  that  he  was  determined  not  to  give  up  the 
point.  Amelia,  however  could  not  help  sometimes 
stealing  a  glance  at  William,  and  from  a  corner 
of  her  eye  watch  all  his  motions.  As  it  happen- 
ed, one  of  these  sly  glances  met  the  eye  of  Wil- 
liam who  was  equally  attentive  to  watch  all  the 
motions  of  Amelia,  without  wishing  to  be  observed. 
Their  eyes  thus  meeting,  she  instantly  turned  hers 
away  to  another  object :  and  as  William  attribut- 
ed this  to  contempt,  which  in  reality  it  was  not, 
he  affected  much  indifference,  and  continued  eat- 
ing with  the  most  apparent  composure. 

As  soon  as  the  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine 
and  fruit  put  on  the  table,  poor  Amelia,  being  sad- 
ly out  of  temper  at  the  indifference,  she  expe- 
rienced from  William,  made  a  disrespectful  answer^ 
to  a  question  put  to  her  by  her  mamma,  and,  for 
a  second  offence  of  the  same  nature,,  was  ordered 
to  retire  from  table.  She  obeyed,  and  bursting  into  a 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  179 

flood  of  tears,  instantly  withdrew,  not  caring  whi- 
ther she  went.  However  it  so  happened, that  the  gar- 
den door  was  open;  she  therefore  flew  down  the 
walk,  and  went  into  the  arbour,  in  order  there  in 
secret  to  give  a  vent  to  her  grief.  Here  she  cried 
most  lamentably ;  and  soon  repented  of  her  quarrel- 
ling with  William,  who  constantly,  whenever  she 
happened  to  get  into  disgrace  with  her  mamma^ 
would  not  only  weep  with  her,  but  endeavour  to 
bring  about  a  reconciliation,  which  he  never  failed 
to  accomplish. 

Though  William  continued  at  table,  he  could 
not  help  feeling  for  the  disgrace  of  Amelia.  He 
had  fixed  his  eye  on  two  peaches,  and  endeavour- 
ed to  contrive  means  of  getting  them  into  his  pock- 
et in  order  to  convey  them  to  Amelia,  whom  he 
knew  he  should  find  some  where  in  the  garden,  and 
'he  could  easily  make  an  excuse  to  go  thither;  yet 
he  was  fearful  of  having  his  intentions  discovered. 
He  pushed  back  his  chair,  then  brought  it  forwards 
several  times,  and  was  continually  looking  down,  as 
if  for  something  on  the  carpet.  «'  Pretty  little 
Caesar!  sweet  Pompey  l"  cried  he  speaking  to  two 
dogs  then  in  the  room.  At  this  time,  he  heid  a 
peach  in  his  hand,  which  he  meant  to  slip  into  his 
pocket,  as  soon  as  he  could  discover  the  eves  of  my 


180  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

lord  and  lady  attracted  by  any  other  object.  "On-- 
ly  see,  papa  and  mamma,  continued  he,  how  prettily 
ihey  are  playing!'* 

His  lordship  replied,  that  they  would  not  eat  one 
another,  he  would  answer  for  it ;  and  having  just 
looked  at  them,  put  himself  into  his  former  posi- 
fion.  Thus  poor  William,  who  thought  he  wjis 
then  sure  of  pocketing  the  peach,  was  sadly  disap- 
pointed, and  obliged  to  replace  it  on  the  table. 

These  motions,  however,  were  observed  by  lady 
Russel,  who  conjectured  what  were  his  intentions. 
She  therefore  for  some  time  enjoyed  the  poor  fel- 
low's embarrassments,  and  made  his  lordship  ac- 
quainted with  it  by  looks  and  dumb  motions. 

William,  who  had  no  idea  that  his  scheme  was 
suspected,  being  fearful  of  trying  the  same  strata- 
gem twice,  instantly  thought  of  another  expedient. 
He  took  a  peach,  and  placed  it  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hands,  both  put  together,  after  which  he  con- 
ducted it  to  his  mouth,  and  made  believe  as  though 
he  was  really  eating  it.  Then  while  with  his  left 
hand  he  found  means  to  clap  his  peach'  into  a  cav- 
ity he  had  previously  hollowed  in  the  napkin  on 'his 
knees,  he  put  his  right  hand  out  to  reach  the  other, 
which  he  disposed  of  in  the  same  manner. 

In  a  few  minutes,  my  lord   and  lady  forgot    to 


THE  LOOKIVG-GLASS.  181 

watch  the  motiq^  of  William,  nnd  entered  into 
conversation  on "  various  subjects.  He  therefore 
thought  this  a  proper  opportunity  to  get  away, 
rose  up  from  table,  with  both  peaches  in  the  nap- 
kin, and  began  to  imitate  the  mewing  of  a  cat,  which 
a  young  shepherd's  boy  had  lately  taught  him. 
His  views  in  this  was  to  engage  the  attention  of 
Caesar  and  Pompey,,in  which  he  succeeded,  as  they 
both  got  up,  and  jumped  about  the  room. 

Lady  Russel  was  a  little  angry  with  him  for 
making  such  a  noise,  and  told  liim,  if  he  wanted 
to  make  such  a  mfewing  as  that,  the  garden  was 
the  most  proper  place.  William  pretended  to  be 
very  much  confused  at  this  reproof,  though  the 
consequence  of  it  was  the  very  thing  he  wanted. 
He  then  instantly  ran  up  to  Coesar,  "See  mamma, 
said  William,  he  wants  to  bite  Pompey  !"  and  as 
he  turned,  he  dexterously  slipped  the  napkin  i'^to 
his  pocket,  and  pretended  to  run  after  Caesar  to 
punish  him.  The  dog  ran  towards  the  door  Ame- 
lia had  left  open  when  she  weht  into  the  garden, 
and  away  went  William  in  pursuit  of  her 

Lady  Russel  called  William  back,  and  asked  him 

where  he  was  going.     *<  My  dear  mamma,  said  he, 

if  you  please,  I  will  take  a  turn  in  the  garden,  and 

I  hope  you  will  not  refuse  me  that  favour^"     As 

Q2 


182  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

lady  Riissel  did  not  immediately  answer  him,  he 
lowered  his  voice,  and  spoke  in  a  more  suppliant 
manner.  At  last,  having  obtained  her  permission 
away  he  ran  with  so  much  haste,  that  his  foot  slip- 
ped, and  down  he  fell ;  but  luckily,  neither  he  nor 
the  peaches  were  hurt. 

After  searching  round  the  garden  for  his  sister, 
he  at  last  found  her  in  the  arbour,  sitting  in  an  at- 
titude of  sorrow.  She  was  exceedingly  unhappy 
to  think  she  had  grieved  the  three  best  friends  she 
liad,  her  worthy  parents  and  her  dear  William. 
«  My  sweetest  Amelia,  said  the  little  fellow,  falling 
on  his  knees  at  the  same  time,  let  us  be  h-iends.  I 
would  freely  ask  forgiveness  for  my  fault,  had  I 
really  intended  to  displease  yon.  If  you  will  ask 
my  pardon,  I  will  ask  yours  also.  My  pretty  Ame- 
lia let  us  be  friends.  Here  are  two  nice  peaches 
which  I  could  not  think  of  eating  while  you  were 
not  present  to  partake  of  them." 

«<  Ah  my  dearest  Billy  !  said  Amelia,  squeezing 
his  hand  while  she  spoke,  and  weeping  on  his 
shoulder,  what  a  sweet  good-tempered  little  fellow 
you  are  ?  Certainly,  continued  she,  sobbing  while 
she  spoke,  those  that  are  friends  to  us  in  our  mis- 
fortunes are  truly  valuable.  It  was  very  wrong  in 
me  to  be  so  vexed  as  I  was  this  morning,  about  the 
loss  of  a  few  apples.     It  was  the  insulting  look  that 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  18^ 


Miss  Charlotte  gave  me  that  was  the  cause  of  it ; 
but  I  will  think^  her  no  more.  Will  you  forgive 
me  ?  added  she,  wiping  off  the  tears  she  had  let  fall 
on  William's  hand,  I  confess  that  I  sometimes  love 
to  plague  you ;  but  keep  your  peaches,  for  I  can- 
not tliink  of  eating  them." 

"  As  to  plaguing  me,  sister,  answered  William, 
you  may  do  that  as  often  as  you  like ;  but,  I  as- 
sure you  nobody  shall  do  so  but  yourself ;  as  to 
the  peaches,  I  most  certainly  will  not  eat  them  ; 
I  have  already  told  you  so,  and  my  word  is  like 
the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  which  altereth 
not. 

'<  For  the  very  same  reason,  said  Amelia,  I  shall 
not  eat  them,"  and  immediately  threw  them  both 
over  the  garden  wall  j  for,  besides  her  having  said 
she  would  not  eat  them,  she  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  receiving  a  bribe  to  reconcile  a  quarrel. 
Amelia's  next  consideration  was  how  to  make  it  up 
with  her  mamma,  and  she  said  she  should  be  hap- 
py indeed,  if  she  would  but  permit  her  to  appear 
before  her  and  ask  her  pardon. 

The  generous  little  William  no  sooner  heard 
these  words,  than  he  promised  to  settle  that  busi- 
ness, and  away  he  instantly  ran  ^  but  before  he  had 
taken  many  steps,  he   stopped  short,  and  turning 


184  THE  LOOKING-GLASS 

round,  said,  «^I  will  tell  mamma,  that  it  was  I  who 
made  you  anger  her,  by  having^iijexed  you  in  the 
morning,'" 

Little  William  succeeded  beyond  his  expecta- 
tions, and  all  parties  were  soon  reconciled  to  each 
other.  A  friendship  so  affectionate  and  generous, 
is  highly  worthy  the  imitation  of  all  my  juvenile 
readers. 

O  happy  they!  the  happiest  of  their  kind! 
Whom  gentle  stars  unite,  and  in  one  fate 
Their  hearts,  their  fortunes,  and  their  beings  blend. 
'Tis  not  the  coarser  tie  of  human  laws, 
Unnatural  oft,  and  foreign  to  the  mind. 
That  binds  their  peace,  but  harmony  itself, 
Attuning  all  their  passions  into  love; 
Where  friendship  full  exerts  her  softest  power, 
Perfect  esteem  enliven'd  by  desire 
Ineffable   and  sympathy  of  soul ; 
Thought  meeting  thought,  and  will  preventing  will 
With  boundless  confidence,  for  naught  but  love 
Can  answer  love,  and  render  bliss  secure- 


THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 


THE  RIVAL  DOGS. 


A  GENTLEMAN,  whose  name  was  Howard, 
had  brought  up  two  pretty  dogs  from  puppies.  The 
one  he  called  Castor,  and  the  other  Pollux,  hoping 
they  would  live  in  such  friendship  together,  as  did 
the  two  illustrious  heroes,  after  whom  they  were 
named.  Though  they  both  came  from  the  same 
mother,  and  at  the  same  time  •,  had  been  both  fed 
together,  and  equally  treated;  yet  it  was  sodn  seen, 
that  there  was  a  great  difference  in  their  tempers 
and  dispositions. 


186  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Castor  was  of  a  meek  and  tractable  nature  !  but 
Pollux  was  fierce  and  quarrelsome.  When  any 
person  took  notice  of  the  generous  Castor,  he  would 
wag  his  tail,  and  jump  about  for  joy,  nor  was  he 
ever  jealous  on  seeing  more  notice  taken  of  his 
brother  than  of  himself.  The  surly  Pollux,  on  the 
contrary,  whenever  Mr.  Howard  had  him  on  his 
lap,  would  growl  and  grumble  at  Castor,  if  he  at- 
tempted to  come  near  him,  or  if  any  one  took  no- 
tice of  him. 

When  any  of  Mr.  Howard's  friends  happened  to 
come  on  a  visit  to  his  house,  and  bring  their  dogs 
along  with  them,  the  good  natured  Castor  would 
immediately  mix  among  them,  and  in  his  way  en- 
deavour to  amuse  them.  As  he  was  by  nature  ex- 
tremely pliant  and  engaging,  they  were  all  peace 
and  harmony  whenever  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  entertain 
them.  They  would  jump  and  play  about  the  house, 
as  boys  do  in  school  when  they  are  left  to  them- 
selves. 

The  surly  Pollux  acted  a  very  diuerent  part. 
He  would  sneak  into  a  corner,  and  bark  all  day  at 
the  strangers.  If  any  of  them  happened  to  pass  too 
near  him,  he  would  then  be  sure  to  snarl  and  grin, 
^^^^d  would  often  start  up,  and  bite  their  ears  or  tails. 
If  his  master   happened    to    take    any  notice    of 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  187 

either  of  the  strange  dogs,  on  account  of  their 
good-nature  or  handsomeness,  Pollux  would  howl 
as  loud  as  if  thieves  were  actually  breaking  into  the 
house. 

This  odious  disposition  of  Pollux  did  not  escape 
tlie  notice  of  Mr.  Howard,  who  gradually  began  to 
ncGjlect  him;  while  Castor,  on  the  contrary,  was 
f  every  day  increasing  in  his  master's  favour. 

As  Mr.  Howard  was  one  day  sitting  at  table,  it 
suddenly  entered  his  mind  to  make  a  more  par- 
ticular trial  of  the  temper  of  those  two  dogs  than 
he  had  hitherto  done.  Both  happened  to  be  at- 
tending at  table,  but  Pollux  was  nearest  his  mas- 
tv^r  ;  for  the  good  natured  Castor,  in  order  to  avoid 
strife  and  contention,  always  let  him  choose  his 
place. 

Mr.  Howard  threw  a  nice  piece  of  meat  to  Pol- 
lux, which  he  devoured  v^ith  much  greediness, 
*  Castor  shewed  no  signs  of  uneasiness  at  this,  but 
patiently  waited  till  his  master  should  think  it  was 
his  turn.  Soon  afterwards  Mr.  Howard  threw 
Castor  a  bone  with  hardly  any  meat  on  it  ;  but  he 
took  it  without  showing  the  least  mark  of  discon- 
tent. ;  3^e  surly  Pollux,  however,  no  sooner  saw 
his  brother  engaged  on  his  meatless  bone,  though 
he  had  feasted  on  his  own  delicious  morsel,  than 
lie  fell  upon  him,  and  took  it  from  him.    The  good 


188  THE   LOOKIKG-GLASS. 

natured  Castor  made  no   opposition,  but  gave  up 
the  bone  without  a  murmur. 

My  readers  must  not  from  hence  imagine,  that, 
Castor  was  a  coward,  or  was  in  the  least  afraid  of 
the  strength  of  his  brother-,  for  he  had  lately  giv- 
en sufficient  proof  of  his  courage  and  resolution,  in 
a  battle  he  had  been  drawn  into  by  Pollux,  whose 
intolerable  moroseness  had  brought  on  him  the 
vengeance  of  a  neighbouring  dog.  Pollux,  after 
engaging  his  antagonist  only  a  few  minutes,  though 
he  had  provoked  the  dog  to  try  his  strength,  ran 
away  like  a  coward  j  but  Castor,  in  order  to  cover 
the  retreat  of  his  brother,  and  without  any  one  to 
take  his  part,  fought  him  Uke  a  hero,  and  at  last 
forced  him  to  run  away  likewise. 

Mr.  Howard  was  well  acquainted  with  this  cir- 
cumstance, and  as  he  had  before  established  his 
credit,  in  point  of  courage,  so  was  his  master  now 
fully  convinced  of  his  good  temper,  and  the  surly 
and  cowardly  disposition  of  his  brother.  <*  My 
good  fellow,  said  Mr.  Howard  to  Castor,  it  is  but 
just  that  you  should  fare  as  well  as  your  brother, 
who  does  not  deserve  so  much  as  you."  So  saying, 
he  cut  off  a  large  piece  of  nice  meat,  and  gs^ve  it  to  ^ 
Castor. 

Pollux  seeing  so  nice  a  morsel  given  to  his  bro- 
ther, accompanied  with  such  cutting  words  from 


r^ 


THE  LOOKlNG-CiLASjS.  J  8l> 


his  master,  began  to  growl  and  snarl.  « Since 
you  have  shewn  so  much  complaisance  and  gen- 
erosity to  your  brothe%  continued  Mr.  Howard, 
still  speaking  to  Castor,  who  in  return  treats  you 
with  ill  manners,  jealousy  and  envy,  you  shall  in 
future  be  my  own  dog,  and  be  at  liberty  to  range 
about  the  house  at  your  pleasure  j  but  your  brother 
shall  be  conllned  in  the  yard.  Here,  (cried  he) 
bring  a  chain  for  Pollux,  and  order  the  carpenter 
to  make  him  a  little  house  !"  The  order  was  in- 
stantly obeyed,  and  Pollux  was  led  to  his  kennel, 
while  his  brother  rambled  about  at  liberty. 

Had  Pollux  received  so  singular  a  mark  of  fa- 
vour, he  would  undoubtedly  have  supported  it  with 
insolence  j  but  Castor  was  of  a  difierent  disposi- 
tion, and  appeared  very  unhappy  at  his  brother* 
disgrace.  Whenever  any  nice  bit  was  given  to 
Castor,  he  would  run  away  with  It  to  Pollux,  wag 
his  tail  for  joy,  and  invite  him  to  partake  of  it.  In 
short  he  visited  him  every  night  in  his  house,  and 
did  every  thing  he  could  to  a^nuse  him  under  his 
sufferings. 

Notwithstanding  all  these  marks  of  tenderness,- 
Pollux  always  received  his  brother  in  the  most  sur- 
ly  manner,  Iiowling  as  though  he  were  come  to 
devour  him,  and  treating  hun  with  every  mark  of 
disrespect.  At  length  rage  and  disappointment  in- 
R 


190  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

flamed  his  blood,  he  pined  away  by  degrees,  and  aC 
last  died  a  miserable  spectacle. 

The  moral  of  this  story  i^so  obvious,  that  there 
hardly  appears  a  necessity  to  tell  my  young  readers, 
that  such  a  disposition  as  Pollux's  must  render  its 
possessor  an  object  of  contempt  and  abhorrence, 
while  that  of  Castor  will  ever  be  beloved  and  re* 
spected. 

Nor  think,  in  Nature* s  state  they  blindly  trod  ; 
The  state  of  Nature  was  the  reign  of  Go(f^.: 
Self-love  and  social  at  her  birth  began, 
Union  the  bond  of  all  things,  and  of  mafi. 
Pride  then  was  not ;  nor  arts  that  pride  to  aid  ; 
Man  walk'd  with  beast  joint  tenant  of  the  shade  j 
The  same  his  table,  and  the  same  his  bed  \ 
No  murder  cloth'd  him,  and  no  murder  fed. 
In  the  same  temple  the  resounding  wood, 
All  vocal  beings  hymn'd  their  equal  God  : 
Heav'n's  attribute  was  universal  care, 
And  man's  prerogative  to  rule,  but  spare. 
Ah  !  how  unlike  the  than  of  times  to  come  ! 
Of  half  that  live  the  butcher  and  the  tomb, 
Who,  foe  to  nature  hear  the  genVal  groan, 
Murders  their  species,  and  betrays  his  own. 
But  just  disease  to  luxury  succeeds, 
And  every  death  its  own  avenger  breeds  ; 
The  fury  passions  from  that  blood  began, 
And  turn'd  on  man,  a  fiercer  savage  man. 


THE  LOOKING-GLAS£. 


lt>l 


CLEOPATRA;   OR,  THE  RKFORMtD  LITTLE  TYRANT. 


A  PERT  little  vixen,  whose  name  was  Cleopa- 
tra, was  continually  teazing  and  commanding  her 
poor  brother.  <«  So,  you  will  not  do  what  I  bid  you, 
3Mr.  Obstinacy !  (she  would  often  say  to  him.)  Come 
come,  sir.  obey,  or  it  shall  be  the  worse  for  you." 

If  Cleopatra's  word  might  be  taken  for  it,  her 
brother  did  every  thing^w^^rong  ;  but  on  the  contfa- 
iry,  whatever  she  thought  ©f  doing,  was  the  master-^ 
piece  of  reason  and  sound  sense.  If  he  proposed  any 


J9*2  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

kind  of  diversion  she  was  sure  to  consider  it  as  dull 
and  insipid  j  but  it  often  happened  that  she  would 
herself  the  next  day  recommend  the  same  thing, 
and  having  forgotten  what  she  had  said  of  it  before, 
consider  it  as  the  most  lively  and  entertaining. 

Her  brother  was  obliged  to  submit  to  her  unac- 
countable whims  and  fancies,  or  else  endure  the 
most  disagreeable  lectures  a  little  female  tongue 
could  utter.  If  ever  he  presumed  to  be  so  hardy 
as  to  reason  with  her  on  her  strange  conduct,  in- 
stant destruction  to  his  play-things  were  the. inevi- 
table consequence  of  it. 

Her  parents  with  regret  saw  this  strange  and 
tyranical  disposition  of  their  daughter,  and  in  vain 
did  everything  they  could  think  of  to  break  her 
of  it.  Her  mother  in  particular,  continually  enforc- 
ed on  her  mind,  that  such  children  never  procured 
the  esteem  of  others  ;  and  that  a  girl,  who  set  up 
her  own  opinion  against  that  of  every  one  else, 
would  soon  become  intolerable  and  insupportable 
to  all  her  acquaintance.  This  prudent  advice, 
however,  made  no  impression  on  her  stubborn 
heart  j  and  her  brother,  wearied  out  by  her  caprice 
and  tyranny,  began  to  have  very  little  afiection 
for  her.  It  one  day  happened,  that  a  gentleman 
of  a  free  and   open  temper  dined  at  their  house. 


' 


THE  LOOKIN'G-GLASS.  I9f> 

He  could  not  help  observing  with  what  a  haughty 
air  she  treated  her  poor  brother,  and  indeed,  every 
other  person  in  the  room.  At  first  the  rules  of 
politeness  kept  him  from  saying  anything  *,  but  at 
last,  tired  out  with  her  impertinence,  he  began,  ad- 
dressing his  discourse  to  her  mamma  in  the  follow- 
ing manner : 

« I  was  lately  in  France  *,  and  as  I  was  fond  of 
being  present  at  the  soldiers'  exercise,  I  used  to  go 
as  ofjen  as  I  could  to  see  their  manoeuvres  on  the 
parade,  nearly  in  the  same  manner  as  they  do 
here  on  the  field  days.  Among  the  soldiers  there 
were  many  I  observed  with  whiskers,  which  gave 
them  a  very  fierce  soldier-like  look.  Now  had  I  a 
child  like  your  Cleopatra,  I  would  instantly  give 
her  a  soldier's  uniform,  and  put  on  her  a  pair  of 
whiskers,  when  she  might  with  rather  more  pro- 
priety than  at  present,  act  the  part  of  a  command- 
er." 

Cleopatra  heard  this,  and  stood  covered  with 
confusion  !  she  could  not  help  blushing,  and  was 
unable  to  conceal  her  tears.  However,  this  re« 
proach  perfectly  reformed  her,  and  she  became 
sensible  how  unbecoming  was  a  tyranizing  temper. 
It  has  been  observed,  that  to  be  sensible  of  our  er- 
rors is  half  the  work  of  reformation.  So  k  hap- 
pened with  Cleopatra,  who  with  the  asslstaaee  o€ 
R2 


194  THE  LOOK.USG-GLASS. 

her  mother's  prudent  counsels,  became  an  amiable 
girl. 

Her  reformation  was  a  credit  to  her  ;  and  it  is 
much  to  be  wished  that  all  young  ladies,  who  take 
no  pains  to  conquer  their  passions,  would  at  least 
imitate  Cleopatra,  and  wish  to  avoid  being  told, 
that  a  soldier's  dress  and  a  pair  of  whiskers  would 
better  become  them  than  nice  cambrick  frocks  and 
silk  slips.  Had  Cleopatra  attended  to  the  advice 
of  her  parents,  and  not  have  imagined  that  great- 
ness consists  in  impertinence,  she  would  have  been 
happy  much  sooner  than  she  was. 

There  was  a  little  stubborn  dame, 
Whom  no  authority  could  tame  *, 
Restive  by  long  indulgence  grown-, 
iVio  will  she  mind<?d  but  her  own  ; 
At  trifles  oft  sheM  scold  and  fret. 
Then  in  a  corner  take  a  seat. 
And  surly  moping  all  the  day, 
Disdain  alike  to  work  or  play, 

Papa  all  softer  arts  had  try'd, 
And  sharper  remedies  apply 'd  ; 
But  both  were  vain,  for  every  course 
He  took  still  made  her  worse  and  v/orse. 
Mamma  observed  the  rising  lass 
By  stealth  retiring  to  the  glass ; 


THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 


195 


On  this  a  deep  design  she  laid 

To  tame  the  humour  of  the  maid. 

Contriving,  like  a  prudent  mother, 

'J'o  make  one  folly  cure  another  : 

Upon  the  wall,  against  the  seat 

Which  Cleo'  us*d  for  her  retreat, 

AVhene'er  by  accident  offended, 

A  looking-glass  was  straight  suspended, 

That  she  might  shew  her  how  deform'd  ; 

She  look'd,  and  frightful,  when  she  stornVd 

And  warn  her,  as  she  priz'd  her  beauty. 

To  bend  her  humour  to  her  duty. 

All  this  the  looking-glass  achiev'd, 

Its  threats  were  minded  and  believed. 

The  maid,  who  spurn'd  at  all  advice> 

Grew  tame  and  gentle  in  a  trice  ; 

So  when  all  other  means  had  f  aiPd, 

The  silent  monitor  prevail'd. 


19(i 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


jJC^'^lnS^^S^^^'^^^^^^^ 


THE  PASSIONATE  BOY, 

YOUNG  Frederick  had  naturally  a  noble  soul, 
elevated  thoughts,  and  generous  notions.  His  turn 
of  mind  was  lively,  his  imagination  strong  and 
quick,  and  his  temper  cheerful  and  pleasing.  In- 
deed, the  elegance  of  his  person,  and  his  behaviour 
and  accomplishments,  gained  him  the  respect  of 
every  one  ;  but  notwithstanding  all  these  amiable 
quvilities,  he  had  one  unhappy  defect,  which  was 
that  of  giving  way  too  readily  to  the  most  violent 
emotions  of  passion. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  197 

It  would  frequently  happen,  that  while  he  was 
amusing  himself  in  the  circle  of  his  playmates,  the 
most  trifling  contradiction  would  ruffle  his  temper 
and  fill  him  with  the  highest  degree  of  rage  and 
fury,  little  short  of  madness. 

As  he  happened  to  be  one  day  walking  about 
his  chamber,  and  meditating  on  the  necessary 
preparations  for  a  treat  his  father  had  permitted 
him  to  give  his  sister,  his  dear  friend  and  favourite, 
Marcus,  came  to  him  to  advise  with  him  on  that 
business.  Frederick  being  lost  in  thought,  saw  not 
his  friend,  who,  therefore,  having  spoken  to  him 
in  vain,  drew  nearer  to  him,  and  began  to  pull 
him  by  the  sleeve.  Frederick,  angry  and  out  of 
patience  with  these  interruptions,  suddenly  turned 
around,  and  gave  Marcus  such  a  push,  that  he  sent 
him  reeling  across  the  room,  and  he  at  last  fell 
against  the  wainscot. 

Marcus  lay  motionless  on  the  floor,  without  the 
least  appearance  of  life  -,  for  in  his  fall,  he  had 
struck  his  head  against  something  which  had  given 
him  a  deep  and  terrible  wound,  from  which  issued 
a  great  quantity  of  blood.  How  shall  we  describe 
the  situation  of  poor  Frederick,  who  loved  his 
friend  tenderly,  and  for  whom  he  would,  on  occa- 
sion, have  sacrificed  his  life  ! 


1S8  THE   L00KING-GLA5S. 

Frederick  fell  down  beside  him,  crying  out  most 
lamentably,  *<  He  is  dead  !  he  is  dead  !  I  have  kil- 
led my  dear  friend  Marcus  !"  So  great  were  his 
fright  and  consternation,  that  he  had  no  idea  of  cal- 
ling for  assistance,  but  lay  by  his  side  uttering  the 
most^ismal  groans.  Happily,  however,  his  father 
heard  him,  and  instantly  running  in,  took  up  Mar- 
cus in  his  arms.  He  called  for  some  sugar  to  stop 
the  bleeding  of  the .  wound,  and  having  applied 
some  salts  to  his  nose,  and  some  water  to  his  tem- 
ples, they  brought  Ihim  a  little  to  himself. 

Frederick  was  transported  with  joy  when  he  per- 
ceived symptoms  of  life  in  his  friend  \  but  the  fear 
of  relapse  kept  him  in  the  greatest  anxiety.  They 
immediately  sent  for  a  surgeon,  who  as  soon  as  he 
arrived,  searched  the  wound.  He  found  it  was  not 
in  the  temple,  but  so  very  close  to  it,  that  the  tenth 
part  of  an  inch  nearer  would  probably  have  made 
the  wound  dangerous  indeed,  if  not  mortal. 

Marcus  being  carried  home,  soon  became  deliri- 
ous, and  Frederick  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave 
him.  He  sat  down  by  the  side  of  his  poor  friend, 
wholly  absorbed  in  silence.  Marcus  while  he  re- 
mained in  that  delirious  state,  frequently  pronounc- 
ed the  name  of  Frederick.  "My  dear  Frederick, 
he  would  sometimes  say,  what  could  I  have  done 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  199 

to  deserve  being  treated  in  this  manner  ?  Yet  I  am 
sure,  you  cannot  be  less  unhappy  than  myself, 
when  you  reflect  you  wounded  me  without  a  cause. 
However,  I  would  not  wish  your  generous  nature 
should  be  grieved.  Let  us  forgive  each  other,  I 
for  vexing  you,  and  you  for  wounding  me." 

In  this  manner  did  Marcus  talk,  without  being 
sensible  that  Frederick  was  near  him,  though  he 
held  him  by  the  hand  at  the  same  time.  Every 
word  thus  pronounced,  in  which  there  could  be 
neither  flattery  nor  deceit,  went  to  the  heart  of  the 
afflicted  Frederick,  and  rendered  his  grief  almost 
insupportable. 

la  ten  days  time,  however,  It  pleased  God  to 
abate  the  fever,  and  he  was  enabled  to  get  up,  to 
the  great  joy  of  his  parents ;  but  how  can  we  ex- 
press the  feelings  of  Frederick  on  this  happy  oc- 
casion !  That  task  must  be  left  for  those  who  may 
have  unfortunately  been  in  a  similar  situation  :  his 
joy  now  was  undoubtedly  as  great  as  his  sorrows 
had  been. 

Marcus  at  last  got  perfectly  well,  and  Frederick 
in  consequence  recovered  his  former  cheerfulness 
and  good  humour.  He  now  stood  in  need  of  no 
other  lesson  than  the  sorrowful  event  that  had  late- 
ly taken  place,  to  break  himself  of  that  violence  of 
temper,  to  which  he  had  been  so  long  a  slave.  In 
a  little  time,  no  appearance  of  the  wound  remain- 


/ 


200 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


ed,  excepting  a  small  scar  near  his  temple,  which 
Frederick  could  never  look  at  without  some  emo- 
tion, even  after  they  were  both  grown  up  to  man- 
hood. Indeed,  it  ever  afterwards  was  considered 
as  a  seal  of  that  friendship,  which  they  never  lost 
sight  of. 

And  therefore  wert  thou  bred  to  virtuous  know- 
ledge,  ^ 

And  wisdom  early  planted  in  thy  soul,  i^ 

That  thou  might'st  know  to  rule  thy  fiery  passions; 
To  bind  their  rage,  an^  stay  their  headlong  course  ; 
To  bear  with  accidents,  and  every  change 
Of  various  life  ;  to  struggle  with  adversity  ; 
To  wait  the  leisure  of  the  righteous  God, 
Till  he  in  his  own  good  appointed  hour, 
Shall  bid  thy  better  days  come  forth  at  once, 
A  long  and  shining  -rain  ;  till  thou,  well  pleas'd 
Shalt  bow,  and  bless  thy  fate,  and  say  that  God  is 
just. 


TH£  LOOXING-GLASS. 


2di 


CAROLII^E,  OR  A  LESSON  TO  CURE  VANITY. 


A  PLAIN  white  frock  had  hitherto  been  the 
only  dress  of  Caroline.  Silver  buckles  in  her  red 
Morocco  shoes  5  and  her  ebon  hair,  which  had  ne- 
ver felt  the  torturing  iron,  flowed  upon  her  should- 
ers in  graceful  ringlets,  now  and  then  disturbed  by 
the  gentle  winds.  "  '^ 

Being  one  day  in  company  vfith.  some  little  girls, 
who,  though  no  older  than  herself,  were  dressed  iri 

all  the  empty  parade  oi  fashion,  the  glare  and  glit- 
S 


JOii  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

ter  of  those  fine  clothes  raised  in  her  heart  a  desire 
she  had  never  before  felt. 

As  soon  as  she  got  home,  "  My  dear  mamma, 
said  she,  I  have  this  afternoon  seen  miss  Flippant 
and  her  two  sisters,  whom  you  very  well  know. 
The  eldest  is  not  older  than  myself,  and  yet  they 
were  all  dressed  in  the  most  elegant  manner.  Their 
parents  must  certainly  have  great  pleasure  in  see- 
ing them  so  finely  dressed;  and,  as  they  are  not 
richer  than  you,  do,  my  dear  mamma,  let  me  have 
a  fine  silk  slip,  embroided  shoes  like  theirs,  and  let 
my  liair  be  dressed  by  Mr  Frizzle,  who  is  said  to 
be  a  very  capital  man  in  his  profession!" 

Her  mother  replied,  that  she  should  have  no  ob- 
iection  to  gratify  her  wishes,  provided  it  would  add 
to  her  happiness  ;  but  she  was  rather  fearful  it 
might  have  a  contrary  effect.  As  miss  Caroline 
could  not  give  into  this  mode  of  thinking,  she  re- 
quested her  mamma  to  explain  her  reasons  for  what 
she  had  said. 

'<  Because,  said  her  mother,  you  will  be  in  con- 
tinual fear  of  spotting  your  silk  slip,  and  even 
rumpling  it  whenever  you  wear  it.  A  dress  hke 
that  of  miss  Flippant  will  require  the  utmost  care 
and  attention  to  preserve  it  from  accidents;  for  a 
single  spot  will  spoil  its  beauty,  and  you  very  well 
know  there  is  no  washing  of  silks.     However  ex- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS,  203 

tensive  my  fortune  may  be,  I  assure  you,  it  is  not 
sufficient  to  purchase  you  silk  gowns  so  often  as 
you  would  wish  to  have  them." 

Miss  Caroline  considered  these  arguments  as  ve- 
ry trifling,  and  promised  to  give  her  mamma  no 
uneasiness  as  to  her  carelessness  in  wearing  her 
fme  clothes.  Though  her  mam.ma  consented  to 
let  her  be  dressed  in  the  manner  she  requested, 
yet  she  desired  her  to  remember  the  hints  she  had 
given  her  of  the  vexations  to  which  her  vanity 
would  expose  her. 

Miss  Caroline,  on  whom  this  good  advice  had  no 
effect,  lost  not  a  moment  in  destroying  all  the 
pleasure  and  enjoyment  of  her  infancy.  Her  hair, 
which  before  hung  down  in  careless  ringlets,  was 
now  twisted  up  in  paper,  and  squeezed  betv/een  a 
burning  pair  of  tongs;  that  fine  jet,  which  had 
hitherto  so  happily  set  oft  the  whiteness  of  her 
forehead,  was  lost  under  a  clod  of  powder  and  po- 
matum. 

In  a  few  days  the  mantua-maker  arrived  with  a 
fine  slip  of  pea  green  taffata,  with  fine  pink  trim- 
mings, and  a  pair  of  shoes,  elegantly  worked  to 
answer  the  slip.  The  sight  of  them  gave  infinite 
pleasure  to  Caroline  ;  but  it  was  easily  to  be  per- 
ceived, when  she  had  them  on,  that  her  limbs 
were  under  great  restraint,   and  her  motions,  had 


"^04f  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

Jest  their  accustomed  ease  and  freedom.  That  in- 
nocence and  candour,  which  used  to  adorn  hey 
lovely  countenance,  began  to  be  lost  amidst  the 
profusion  of  flowers,  silks,  gauzes,  and  ribbands. 

The  novelty,  however,  of  her  appearance,  quite 
enchanted  her.  Her  eyes,  with  uncommon  eager- 
ness, wandered  over  every  part  of  her  dress,  and 
were  seldom  removed,  unless  to  take  a  general 
survey  of  the  whole  in  a  pier-glass.  She  prevailed 
On  her  mamma,  to  let  her  send  cards  of  invitation 
to  all  her  acquaintances,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  in- 
expressible pleasure  of  being  gazed  at.  As  soon 
as  they  were  met,  she  would  walk  backwards  and 
forwards  before  them,  like  a  peacock,  and  seem  to 
consider  herself,  as  the  empress  of  the  world,  and 
they  as  her  vassals. 

All  this  triumph  and  consequence,  however, 
met  with  many  mortifying  circumstances.  The 
children  who  lived  near  her,  were  one  day  permit- 
ted to  ramble  about  the  fields,  when  Caroline  ac- 
companied theni  and  led  the  way.  What  first  at- 
tracted their  attention,  was  a  beautiful  meadow, 
enamelled  with  a  variety  of  charming  flowers  ;  and 
butterflies,  whose  wings  were  of  various  colours, 
hovered  over  its  surface.  The  little  ladies  amused 
themr>elves  with  hunting  these  butterflies,  which 
'hey  dexterously  caught  without  hurting  them  j 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  205 

and,  as  soon  as  they  bad  examined  their  beauties 
let  them  fly  again.  Of  the  flowers  that  sprung 
beneath  their  feet,  they  made  nosegays,  formed  in 
the  prettiest  taste. 

Though  pride  would  not  at  first  permit  miss  Ca- 
roline to  partake  of  these  mean  amusements,  yet 
she  at  last  wanted  to  share  in  the  diversion;  but  they 
told  her,  that  the  ground  might  be  damp  which 
would  Infallibly  stain  lier  shoes,  and  hurt  her  silk 
slip.  They  had  discovered  her  intention  in  thus 
bringing  .them  together,  which  was  only  to  shew 
her  fine  clothes,  and  they  were  therefore  resolved 
to  mortify  her  vanity. 

Miss  Caroline  was  of  course  under  the  necessity 
of  being  solitary  and  inactive,  while  her  companions 
sported  on  the  grass  without  fear  of  incommoding 
themselves.  The  pleasure  she  had  lately  taken  in 
viewing  her  fine  slip  and  shoes  was,  at  this  moment, 
but  a  poor  compensation  for  the  mirth  and  meijri- 
ment  she  thereby  lost. 

On  one  side  of  the  meadov/  grev/  a  fine  grove 
of  trees,  which  resounded  with  the  various  notes 
of  innumerable  birds,  and  which  seemed  to  invite 
every  one  that  passed  that  way  to  retire  thither,  and 
partake  of  the  indulgences  of  the  shade.  The  lit- 
tle maidens  entered  this  grove,  jumping  and' sport*. 


2j06  the  looking-glass. 

ing,  without  fearing  any  injury  to  their  clothes. 
Miss  Caroline  would  have  followed  them,  but  they 
advised  her  not,  telling  her,  that  the  bushes  would 
certainly  tear  her  fine  trimmings.  She  plainly  saw 
that  her  friends  who  were  joyously  sporting  among 
the  trees,  were  making  themselves  merry  at  her 
expense,  and  therefore  grew  peevish  and  ill-hu- 
moured. 

The  youngest  of  the  visitors,  however,  had  some 
sort  of  compassion  on  her.  She  had  just  discovered 
a  corner  where  a  quantity  of  fine  wild  strawberries 
grew,  when  she  called  to  miss  Caroline,  and  invi- 
ted her  to  eat  part  of  them.  This  she  readily  at- 
tempted ;  but  no  sooner  had  she  entered  the  grove, 
than  she  was  obhged  to  call  out  for  help.  Hereup- 
on the  children  all  gathered  to  the  spot,  and  found 
poor  Caroline  fastened  by  the  gauze  of  her  hat  to  a 
branch  of  white-thorn,  from  which  she  could  not 
disengage  herself.  They  immediately  took  out  the 
pins  that  fastened  her  hat  •,  but  to  add  to  her  mis- 
fortune, as  her  hair,  which  had  been  frizzled  witk 
so  much  labour,  was  also  entangled  with  the 
branch  of  white-thorn,  it  cost  her  almost  a  whole 
lock  before  she  could  be  set  at  liberty.  Thus,  ii^ 
an  instant,  was  all  the  boasted  superstructure  of  her 
head  dress  put  into  a  state  of  confusion. 

After  what  had  passed,  it  cannot  be  difficult  to 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  207 

suppose  in  what  manner  her  playmates  viewed  this 
accident.  Instead  of  consolation,  of  which  Caro- 
line stood  in  much  need,  they  could  not  refrain 
laughing  at  the  odd  figure  she  made,  and  did  actu- 
ally torment  her  with,  an  hundred  witty  jokes. 
Alter  having  put  her  a  little  into  order,  they  quit- 
ted her  in  search  of  new  amusements,  and  were 
soon  seen  on  the  top  of  a  neighbouring  hill. 

Miss  Caroline  found  it  very  difficult  to  reach 
this  hill  5  for  her  fine  shoes,  that  were  made  very 
tight,  in  order  to  set  off  her  feet  the  better,  great- 
ly retarded  her  speed.  Nor  was  this  the  only  in- 
convenience •,  for  her  stays  were  drawn  so  close 
that  she  could  not  properly  breathe.  She  would 
very  willingly  have  gone  home  to  change  her  dress, 
in  order  to  be  more  at  ease ;  but  she  well  knew  that 
her  friends  would  not  givje  up  their  amusements 
to  please  her  caprice. 

Her  playmates  having  reached  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  enjoyed  the  beautiful  prospect  that  sur- 
rounded them  on  all  sides.  On  one  hand  were  seen 
verdant  meadows  ;  on  the  other  the  riches  of  the 
harvest,  with  meandering  streams  that  intersected 
the  fields,  and  country  seats  and  cottages  scattered 
here  and  there.  So  grand  a  prospect  could  not 
fail  ot  delighting  them,  and  they  danced  about  with 
}oy  •,  while  poor  Caroline  found  herself  obliged  to 


208  THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 

remain  below,  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  not  be- 
ing able  to  get  up  the  hill. 

In  such  a  situation  she  had  leisure  enough  to 
make  the  most  serious  reflections.  "  To  what  pur- 
pose said  she  to  herself,  am  I  dressed  in  these  fine 
clothes  ?  Of  what  a  deal  of  pleasure  do  they  debar 
me,  and  do  not  all  my  present  sufferings  arise 
merely  from  the  possession  of  them  ?"  She  was 
giving  up  her  mind  to  these  distressing  thoughts, 
when  she  suddenly  saw  her  friends  come  running 
down  the  hill,  and  all  crying  out  together  as  they 
passed  her,  "  run,  run,  Caroline  1  there  is  a  terri- 
ble storm  behind  the  hill,  and  it  is  coming  to- 
wards us  !  If  you  do  not  make  haste,  your  fine 
silk  slip  will  be  nicely  soused  !" 

The  fear  of  having  her  slip  spoiled  recalled  her 
strength  -,  she  forgot  hen  weariness,  pinched  feet, 
and  tight  laced  waist,  and  made  all  the  haste  she 
could  to  get  under  cover.  In  spite  of  all  her  efforts, 
however,  she  could  not  run  so  fast  as  her  compa- 
nions, who  were  not  incommoded  by  their  dresses. 
Every  moment  produced  some  obstacle  to  her 
speed ;  at  one  time,  by  her  boon  and  flounces  in 
the  narrow  paths  she  had  to  pass  through ;  at  ano*^ 
ther,  by  her  train,  of  which  the  furzes  frequently 
took  hold  j  and  at  others,  by  mons.  Pomatum  and 
Powder's  fine   scafi:bld  work  about  her  head,  on 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS,  209 

which  the  wind  beat  down  the  branches  of  such 
trees  as  she  was  obHged,  in  her  progress  home  to 
pass  under. 

At  last,  down  came  the  storm  with  great  fury, 
and  hail  and  rain  mixed  fell  in  torrents.  All  her 
companions  were  safe  at  home  before  it  began,  and 
none  were  exposed  to  its  rage  but  poor  Caroline, 
who  indeed,  got  home  at  last,  but  in  a  most  disas- 
terous  condition.  She  had  left  one  of  her  fine  shoes 
behind  her  in  a  large  muddy  hole,  which,  in  her 
precipitate  flight,  she  had  hurried  over  without  ob- 
serving -,  and  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  her  misfor- 
tunes, just  as  she  had  got  over  the  meadow,  a  sud- 
den gust  of  wind  made  free  with  her  hat,  and  blew 
it  into  a  pond  of  stagnated  and  filthy  water. 

So  completely  soaked  was  every  thing  she  had 
on,  and  the  heat  and  rain  had  so  glued  her  Unen 
to  her,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  they  got  her  un- 
dressed ;  as  to  her  silk  slip,  it  indeed  afforded  a 
miserable  spectacle  of  fallen  pride  and  vanity. 

Her  mother  seeing  her  in  tears,  jocosely  said  to 
her,  «  My  dear,  shall  I  have  another  slip  made  up 
for  you  against  to-morrow"  ?" — «  Oh,  no,  mamma, 
answered  Caroline,  kissing  her,  I  am  perfectly  con- 
vinced from  experience,  that  fine  clothes  cannot 
add  to  the  happiness  of  the  wearer.  Let  me  again 
have  my  nice  white  frock,   and  no  more  powder 


ilO  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

and  pomatum  till  I  am  at  least  ten  years  older  ?  tor 
I  am  ashamed  of  my  folly  and  vanity." 

Caroline  soon  appeared  in  her  former  dress,  and 
with  it  she  recovered  her  usual  ease  and  freedom, 
looking  more  modest  and  pleasing  than  she  over 
did  in  her  gaudy  finery.  Her  mamma  did  not  re- 
gret the  loss  she  had  sustained  in  the  wreck  of  the 
silk  slip,  fine  shoes,  and  hat,  since  it  produced  the 
means  of  bringing  her  daughter  back  to  reason 
and  prudence. 

What  is  the  sex's  earliest,  latest  care, 
The  heart's  supreme. ambition  ?  To  be  fair  : 
For  this  the  toilet  every  thought  employs. 
Hence  all  the  toils  of  dress,  and  all  the  joys : 
For  this,  hands,  lips  and  eyes,  are  put  to  school, 
And  each  instructed  feature  has  its  rule  ; 
And  yet  how  few  have  learnt,  when  this  is  giv'n 
Not  to  disgrace  the  partial  boon  of  heav'n  ? 
Do  you,  my  fair  endeavour  to  possess 
An  elegance  of  mind  as  well  as  dress  •, 
Be  that  your  ornament,  and  know  to  please 
By  graceful  nature's  unaffected  ease. 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS* 


211 


ARTHUR  AND  ADRIAN  ;  OR,  TWO  HEADS  BETTER 
THAN  ONE. 


ADRIAN  ha  J  frequently  heard  his  father 
say,  that  children  had  but  little  knowledge  with 
respect  to  what  was  most  proper  for  them  ;  and 
that  the  greatest  proof  they  could  give  of  their 
wisdom,  consisted  in  following  the  advice  of  peo- 
ple, who  had  more  age  and  experience.  This 
was  a  kind  of  doctrine  Adrian  did  not  understand, 
or  at  least  would  not,  therefore  it  is  no  wonder  he 
forgot  it. 


212  i'HE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

This  wise  and  good  father  had  allotted  him  and 
his  brother  Arthur  a  convenient  piece  of  ground, 
in  order  that  each  might  be  possessed  of  a  little 
garden,  and  display  his  knowledge  and  industry  in 
the  cultivation  of  it.  They  had  also  leave  to  sow 
whatever  seed  they  should  think  proper,  and  to 
transplant  any  tree  they  liked  out  of  their  father's 
garden  into  their  own. 

Arthur  remembered  those  words  of  his  father, 
which  his  brother  Adrian  had  forgotten,  and  there- 
fore went  to  consult  their  gardener  Rufus.  **  Pray 
tell  me,  said  he,  what  is  now  in  season  to  sow  in 
my  garden,  and  in  what  manner  I  am  to  set  about 
my  business  ?'*  The  gardener  hereupon  gave  him 
several  roots  and  seeds,  such  as  were  most  proper 
for  the  season.  Arthur  instantly  ran  and  put 
them  in  the  ground,  and  Rufus,  very  kindly,  not 
only  assisted  him  in  the  work,  but  made  him  ac- 
quainted with  many  things  necessary  to  be 
known. 

Adrian,  on  the  other  hand,  shrugged  up  hi^ 
shoulders  at  his  brother's  industry,  thinking  he  was 
taking  much  more  pains  than  was  necessary.  Ru- 
fus not  observing  this  contemptuous  treatment,  of- 
fered him  likewise  his  assistance  and  instruction  ; 
but  he  refused  it  in  a  manner  that  sufficiently  be- 
trayed his  vanity  and  ignorance.    He  then  went 


THE  LOOKING-GLA^.  213 

into  his  father's  garden  and  took  from  thence  a 
quantity  of  flowers  which  he  immediately  trans- 
planted into  his  own.  The  gardener  took  notice 
of  him  but  left  him  to  do  as  he  liked. 

When  Adrian  visited  his  garden  the  next  morn- 
ing, all  the  flowers  he  had  planted  hung  down  their 
heads  like  so  many  mourners  at  a  funeral,  and,  as 
he  plainly  saw,  were  in  a  dying  state.  He  replaced 
them  with  others  from  his  father's  garden  j  but, 
on  visiting  them  the  next  morning,  he  found  them 
perishing  like  the  former. 

This  was  a  matter  of  great  vexation  to  Adrian, 
who  consequently  became  soon  disgusted  with  this 
kind  of  business.  He  had  no  idea  of  taking  so 
much  pains  for  the  possession  of  a  few  flowers,  and 
therefore  gave  it  up  as  an  unprofitable  game. 
Hence  his  piece  of  ground  soon  became  a  wilder- 
ness of  weeds  and  thistles. 

As  he  was  looking  into  his  brother's  garden, 
about  the  beginning  of  summer,  he  saw  something 
of  a  red  colour  hanging  near  the  ground,  which, 
on  examination  he  found  to  be  strawberries  of  a 
delicious  flavour.  "  Ah  !  (said  he)  I  should  have 
planted  strawberries  in  my  garden. 

Some  time  afterwards,  walking  again  in   his 
brother's  garden,  he  saw  little  berries  of  a  milk  • 
T 


il  i  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

white  colour,  which  hung  down  in  clusters  from 
the  branches  of  a  bush  Upon  examination,  he 
found  they  were  currants,  which  even  the  sight  of 
was  a  feast.  Ah  !  (said  hej  I  should  have  planted 
currants  in  my  garden," 

The  gardener  then  observed  to  him,  that  it  was 
his  own  fault  that  his  garden  was  not  as  productive 
as  his  brother's.  "  Never  for  the  future,  (said  Ru- 
fus)  despise  the  instruction  and  assistance  of  a-ny 
one,  since  you  will  find  by  experience,  that  iivo 
heads  are  better  than  c/.r." 

What  self-sufficiency  and  false  content 
Benumb  the  senses  of  the  indolent  ! 
Dead  to  all  purposes  of  good  or  ill, 
Alive  alone  in  an  unactive  will. 
His  only  vice  in  no  good  action  lies. 
And  his  sole  virtue  is  his  want  of  vice. 
Business  he  deems  too  hard,  trifles  too  easy, 
And  doing  nothing  finds  himself  too  busy. 
Wealth  is  procur'd  with  toil,  and  kept  with  fear 
Knowledge  by  labour  purchased  costs  too  dear*, 
Honour  a  bubble,  subject  to  a  breath, 
And  all  engagements  vain  since  nulPd  by  death  \ 
Thus  all  the  wise  esteem,  he  can  despise, 
And  caring  not,  'tis  he  alone  is  wise  : 
Yet  all  his  wish  possessing,  finds  no  rest, 
And  only  lives  to  know,  he  never  can  be  blest. 


THE  LOOICING-GLASS. 


515 


MADAM  D*ALLONE  AND  HER  FOUR  PUPILS. 


.MADAM  D'Allone  was  tlie  governess  of  four 
young  lac^s,  Emilia,  Harriet,  Lucy  and  Sophia> 
whom  she  loved  with  the  tenderness  of  a  mother. 
Her  principal  wish  was  that  her  pupils  might  be 
virtuous  and  happy,  and  that  they  might  enjoy  all 
die  comforts  of  life  with  tranquillity.  They  each, 
experienced  an  equal  share  of  her  indulgence,  and 
each  received  the  same  treatment,  either  as  to  par- 
don for  errors,  or  rewards,  or  punishments. 

Her  endeavours  were  crowned  with  the  happiest 
success,  and  her  four  little  girls  became  the  swe^ 


ii^ltJ  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

€st  children  upon  earth.  They  told  each  other  of 
their  faults,  and  as  readily  forgave  offences  ;  they 
shared  in  each  other's  joys,  nor  were  they  ever  hap^ 
py  when  separated. 

An  unforeseen  event,  however,  disturbed  this 
happy  tranquillity,  just  at  the  very  moment  they 
began  to  taste  its  charms,  which  served  to  convince 
ihem  how  necessary  it  was  to  be  guided  by  their 
prudent  governess. 

Madame  D^AUone  was  obliged  to  leave  her  pu- 
pils for  a  little  time,  a  family  affair  having  made 
it  necessary  for  her  to  visit  France.  She  left  them 
with  much  reluctance,  even  sacrificed  her  interest 
in  some  measure,  to  the  desire  of  speedily  settling 
her  affairs,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  month,  return- 
ed in  safety  to  her  little  flock,  who  received  her 
with  the  warmest  expressions  of  joy  ;  but  the  alter- 
ation she  perceived  in  her  children  veUf  much  sur- 
prised and  alarmed  her. 

She  saw  it  frequently  happen,  that  if  one  asked 
the  slightest  favour  of  another,  it  was  ill-naturedly 
refused,  and  from  thence  arose  tumults  and  quar- 
rels. That  gaiety  and  cheerfulness,  which  had 
use  1  to  accompany  all  their  sports  and  pastimes, 
were  now  changed  to  a  gloomy  perverseness ;  and, 
instead  of  those  tender  expressions  of  love  and 
ftiendship,  which  had  constantly  dwelt  in  all  their 


THE    LOOKING-GLASS.  217 

conversations,  nothing  was  now  heard  but  perpe- 
tual jarrings  and  wranglings.  If  one  proposed  a 
walk  in  the  garden,  another  would  give  some  rea- 
son why  she  wished  to  remain  in  her  chamber  •, 
and,  in  short,  their  only  study  seemed  to  be  to 
thwart  each  other. 

It  happened  one  day,  that  not  contented  with 
shewing  each  other  how  much  they  delighted  in 
perverseness,  they  mutually  distressed  themselves 
with  reciprocal  reproaches. 

Madam  D'Allone  beheld  this  scene  with  the 
greatest  uneasiness,  and  could  not  help  shedding 
tears  on  the  occasion.  She  did  not  think  it  pru- 
dent to  say  any  thing  to  them,  but  retired  to  her 
chamber,  in  order  there  to  think  of  the  properest 
means  of  restoring  peace  and  harmony  among  her 
unhappy  pupils. 

While  she  was  turning  these  afflicting  thoughts 
in  her  miil^,  all  the  four  young  ladies  entered  her 
apartment,  with  a  peevish  and  uneasy  look,  each 
complaining  of  the  ill  temper  of  the  rest.  There 
was  not  one  but  what  charged  the  other  three  with 
being  the  cause  of  it,  and  altogether  begged  their 
governess  would,  if  possible,  restore  to  them  that 
happiness  they  once  possessed. 

Their  governess  put  on   a  very  serious  counte- 
T  2 


% 


-^  1 8  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

nance,  and  said,  «  I  have  observed,  my  pupils, 
ihat  you  endeavour  to  thwart  each  other,  and 
thereby  destroy  your  pleasures.  In  order,  there- 
fore, that  no  such  thing  may  happen  again,  let 
each  take  up  her  corner  in  this  room,  if  she  choose 
it,  and  divert  herself  in  what  manner  she  pleases, 
provided  she  does  not  interfere  with  either  of  her 
sisters.  You  may  immediately  have  recourse  to 
ihis  mode  of  recreation,  as  you  have  leave  to  play 
till  night  -,  but  remember  that  neither  of  you  stir 
from  the  corner  in  which  I  shall  place  you. 

The  little  maidens,  who  were  no  way  displeased 
with  this  proposal,  hastened  to  their  different  quar- 
ters, and  began  to  amuse  themselves  each  in  her 
own  way.  Sophia  commenced  a  conversation  with 
her  doll,  or  rather  told  her  many  pretty  little  sto- 
ries ;  but  her  doll  had  not  the  gift  of  speech,  and 
consequently  was  no  companion.  She  could  not 
expect  any  entertainment  from  her  sisters,  as  they 
were  playing  each  asunder,  in  their  respective 
corners. 

Lucy  took  her  battledoor  and  shuttlecock,  but 
there  were  none  to  admire  her  dexterity  *,  besides, 
she  was  not  allowed  to  strike  it  across  the  ioom,-as 
ihat  would  have  been  an  invasion  on  one  of  her  sis- 
ter's territories.  She  could  not  expect,  that  either 
of  them  would  quit  their  amusements  to  oblige  her 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  219 

Harriet  was  very  fond  of  her  old  game  of  hunt 
the  slipper ;  but  what  was  she  to  do  with  the  slipper 
by  herself  -,  she  could  only  shove  it  from  hand  to 
hand.  It  was  in  vain  to  hope  for  such  service  from 
her  sisters,  as  each  was  amusing  herself  in  her  as- 
signed corner. 

Emilia,  who  was  a  very  skilful  pretty  housewife, 
was  thinking  how  she  might  give  her  friends  an 
entertainment,  and  of  course  sent  out  for  many 
things  to  market  j  but  there  was  at  present  nobody 
■near  with  whom  she  might  conbult  on  the  occasion, 
for  her  sisters  were  amusing  themselves  each  in 
her  corner. 

Every  attempt  they  made  to  find  some  new 
amusement  failed,  and  all  supposed  that  a  compro- 
n[^ise  would  be  most  agreeable  5  but  as  matters 
were  carried  so  far,  who  was  first  to  propose  it  ? 
This  each  would  have  considered  as  a  humiliating 
circumstance  ;  they  therefore  kept  their  distance, 
and  disdainfully  continued  in  their  solitude.  The 
day  at  last  closing,  they  returned  to  madam  D'Al- 
ione,  and  begged  her  to  think  of  some  other 
amusement  for  them,  than  the  ineffectual  one  they 
had  tried. 

«  I  am  sorry,  my  children,  (said  their  governess) 
to  see  you  all  so  discontented.  I  know  but  one  way 
to  make  you  happy,  with  which  you  yourselves  were 


220  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

formerly  acquainted,  but  which,  it  seems,  you  have 
forgotten.  Yet,  if  you  wish  once  more  to  put  it 
into  practice,  lean  easily  bring  it  to  your  recollec- 
tions." They  all  answered  together,  as  though 
with  one  voice,  that  they  heartily  wished  to  recol- 
lect it,  and  stood  attentive,  while  their  governess 
was  looking  at  them,  in  eager  expectation  to  hear 
what  she  had  to  say. 

"  What  you  have  lost,  or  at  least  forgotten,  (re- 
plied madam  D'AUone,  is  that  mutual  love  and 
friendship,  which  you  once  had  for  each  other,  and 
which  every  sister  ought  cheerfully  to  cherish.  O  I 
my  dearest  little  friends,  how  have  yon  contrived 
to  forget  this,  and  thereby  make  me  and  yourselves 
miserable.'* 

Having  uttered  these  few  words,  which  were  In- 
terrupted by  sighs,  she  stopped  short,  while  tears 
of  tenderness  stole  down  her  cheeks.  The  young 
ladies  appeared  much  disconcerted,  '^nd  struck 
dumb  with  sorrow  and  confusion.  Their  gover- 
ness held  out  her  arms,  and  they  all  at  once  in- 
stantly rushed  towards  her.  They  sincerely  pro- 
mised that  they  would  tenderly  love  each  other  for 
the  future,  and  perfectly  agree,  as  they  formerly 
had  done. 

From  this  time  no  idle  peevishness  troubled  their 
harmonious  intercourse  ;  and  instead  of  bickerings 


THE  LOOKlxVG-GLASS.  221 

and  discontents  among  them,  nothing  was  seen  but 
mutual  condescension,  which  delighted  all  who 
had  the  opportunity  of  being  in  their  company. 
May  this  serve  as  a  useful  lesson  to  my  youthful 
readers,  how  easy  it  is  for  them  to  promote  or  dis- 
turb their  own  happiness. 

Peruse,  young  ladies,  madam  D' Allone's  page, 
And  let  its  precepts  your  whole  heart  engage  : 
Then  shall  each  charm  and  virtue  of  the  fair. 
The  smile  of  kindness  and  the  modest  air  ; 
The  brow  by  wisdom  polished  and  serene. 
The  glow  of  health  and  the  decorous  mein ; 
The  eye,  « that  speaking  sense  distinct  and  clear,'* 
Tells  in  its  rays,  what  pleasure  'tis  to  her  ; 
The  tear  of  pity,  that,  like  glistening  dew, 
Jmpearls  the  opening  rose's  crimson  hue  ; 
The  robe  embraced  by  heav'nly  Venus*  zone^ 
The  flowing  tresses  that  each  art  disown  ; 
Each  charm  of  body,  and  each  gift  of  mind, 
Which  nature  gave,  or  culture  has  refin'd. 


22^ 


THE  L00KING-GLAS§» 


THE  bird's    egg. 


MASTER  Gregory  was  fond  of  walking  in  a 
wood  which  stood  at  a  short  distance  from  his  fa- 
ther's house.  The  wood  being  young,  the  trees 
were  consequently  small,  and  placed  very  near  to 
each  other,  widi  two  or  three  paths  between  them. 
As  he  was  one  day  walking  up  and  down,  in  or- 
der to  rest  himself  a  little,  he  placed  his  back 
against  a  tree  whose  stem  was  quite  slender,  and 
therefore  all  its  branches  shook  as  soon  as  it  was 
touched.     This  rustling  happened  to  frighten  a  lit- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  S23 

lie  bird  which  sprung  from  a  neighbouring  bush, 
and  flew  into  another  part  of  the  wood. 

Gregory  was  vexed  to  think  he  had  disturbed 
the  bird,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  bush,  in  hopes 
of  seeing  it  return.  While  he  was  thus  attentively 
on  the  watch,  he  imagined  he  saw  among  the  twist- 
ed branches  something  like  a  tuft  of  hay.  As  his 
curiosity  was  raised  to  know  what  it  was,  he  went 
up  close  to  the  hedge,  and  found  this  tuft  of  hay 
was  hollow,  like  a  bowl.  On  putting  aside  the 
branches,  he  saw  something  like  little  balls  within 
it,  which  were  spotted,  and  of  an  oval  shape.  They 
lay  close  to  each  other,  on  something  very  soft. 
«'  Bless  me,  (said  Gregory)  this  must  be  certainly 
what  I  have  heard  some  people  call  a  bird's  nest, 
and  the  balls  must  be  eggs.  They  are  indeed  less 
than  our  eggs,  but  then  our  hens  are  larger  than 
these  birds." 

He  had  some  thoughts,  at  first,  of  taking  away 
the  whole  nest  -,  but  upon  second  consideration, 
he  contented  himself  with  taking  only  one  of  the 
eggs,  with  which  he  instantly  ran  home.  In  the 
midst  of  his  haste,  he  met  his  sister.  "  See  this 
little  egg,  (said  he  to  her)  I  have  just  now  found  it 
in  a  nest  in  which  were  five  others." 

She  desired  to  have  it  in  her  hand,  examined  it 
.attentively,  and  then  returned  it  to  her  brother. 


224-  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

At  last  they  began  rolling  It  up  and  down  a  table, 
just  as  they  would  a  ball.  One  pushed  it  one  way 
and  the  other  a  different  way,  till  at  last  they  push- 
ed it  off*  the  table,  when  it  fell  on  the  floor  and 
broke.  This  set  them  a  crying,  and  each  mutu- 
ally accused  the  other  of  being  the  cause  of  this 
sad  disaster. 

Their  mamma  happening  to  hear  them  cry, 
came  to  enquire  into  the  cause  of  it,  when  both 
began  at  once  telling  their  sorrows,  and  having 
heard  their  different  stories,  she  took  them  affec- 
tionately by  the  hand  and  led  them  to  a  tree, 
whose  stately  bows  afforded  a  pleasant  shade  to  a 
verdant  bank,  on  which  they  all  sat  down  toge- 
ther. 

«  My  dear  children,  (said  their  mamma)  make, 
yourselves  easy.  You  have  broken  the  egg  between 
you,  and  that,  to  be  sure  is  a  misfortune ;  but  it  is 
of  too  trifling  a  nature  to  suffer  it  to  make  you  un- 
happy. After  all,  Gregory,  there  is  some  room 
for  complaint  against  you,  as  it  was  an  act  of  in- 
justice to  rob  the  poor  bird  of  its  egg.  You  must 
have  seen  how  the  hen  places  her  eggs  in  a  nest, 
on  which  she  sits  to  warm  and  animate  them.  In 
about  three  weeks,  from  the  eggs  proceed  chick- 
ens, which  pierce  the  shell,  and  in  a  few  days 
come  and   feed    out  of  your   hand.     This  eg^ 


THE  LOOKlNC-GLASSi  225 

which  you  have  just  now  broken,  had  you  left 
it  in  the  nest,  would  have  become  a  sort  of  chick. 
The  bird  you  saw  fly  out  of  the  bush,  was  pro- 
bably the  mother,  who  will,  very  likely,  return 
again,  to  see  what  mischief  you  have  done  her,  and 
perhaps  she  will  forsake  it  altogether,  which  they 
frequently  do  when  disturbed;  '" 

<'  Though  the  lo<is  is  only  a  single  egg,  yet  that 
perhaps  will  inform  them  that  their  habitation  is 
discovered,  when  they  have  every  thing  to  be 
afraid  of  from  our  violence.  They  guess,  that  when 
their  little  ones  shall  be  hatched,  those  that  rob- 
bed them  of  an  egg^  will  return  and  seize  upon 
their  infant  family.  If  this  nest  you  have  been 
robbing,  for  I  cannot  call  it  any  thing  less  than  a 
robbery,  should  be  on  that  account  forsaken,  I 
think  you  will  be  very  sorry  for  it." 

Gregory  replied,  that  it  would  indeed  give  him 
much  uneasiness,  and  seemed  very  sorry  that  he 
had  meddled  with  the  egg.  «  But,  said  he  to  his 
mamma,  I  had  not  the  least  thought  of  what  you 
have  been  telling  me,  nor  did  I  suppose  there 
could  be  any  harm  in  bringing  it  to  my  sister,  for 
it  was  principally  on  that  account  I  took  it. 

His  mamma  replied,  that  she  readily  believed 
him  ;  for  she  told  him  she  was  sensible,  that  he  had 
too  good  a  heart  to  wish  to  do  mischief  merely  for 
U 


^26  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

the  sake  of  tormenting  others.  Gregory  was,  in- 
deed, a  very  good  boy,  and  was  as  remarkable  for 
his  duty  to  his  parents,  his  tender  attachment  to 
his  sister,  and  his  universalbenevolence  to  every  one. 
The  little  girl  observed  to  her  mamma,  that  the 
nest  which  her  brother  had  shewn  her,  did  not,  in 
any  degree,  resemble  the  swallow's  nests  that  were 
seen  about  the  corners  of  the  windows  of  some 
houses.  <*  My  dear,  replied  her  mamma,  every 
nest  is  not  alike,  any  more  than  every  bird,  some 
beiftg  great,  and  others  little ;  some  are  never 
seen  to  perch  on  trees,  while  others  are  hardly 
ever  out  of  them  ;  some  are  bulky  and  inactive, 
others  slim,  and  full  of  cunning  and  industry;  the 
plumage  of  some  are  beautiful  beyond  descrip- 
tion, with  an  amazing  variety  of  colours,  and 
others  have  a  plain  and  homely^pearance;  some 
subsist  on  fruits,  some  feed  upon  insects,  and  many 
live  by  making  a  prey  of,  and  devouring  the  small- 
er birds. 

Here  her  little  daughter  exclaimed,  «<  Oh,  what 
wicked  creatures  !  I  am  sure  I  should  think  it  no 
crime  to  destroy  the  nests  of  such  unnatural  birds!" 

««  Very  true,'replied  her  mamma,  and  there  are 

many  more  of  your  way  of  thinking ;  and  therefore 
these  great  birds,  who  live  upon  the  smaller  class, 


TJM  tOOKlNG-GLASS.  227 

build  their  nests  in  places  where  they  cannot  be 
easily  disturbed,  such  as  in  woods,  in  crevices  of 
rocks,  and  in  other  places  most  unfrequented  by 
men,  or  at  heights  beyond  our  reach. 

"  Since,  therefore  my  dear  children,  these  birds 
are  greatly  different  from  each  other,  as  well  in 
size  as  in  the  mode  of  iivmg,  and  in  variety  of 
their  plumage,  it  will  naturally  foUov/,  that  their 
nests  must  also  differ.  The  lark  never  perches 
on  a  tree,  and  sings  only  when  mounting  in  the 
air,  and  builds  her  nest  6n  the  ground.  The  swal- 
low builds  about  the  roofs  of  houses,  under  what 
we  call  the  eaves,  and  sometimes  in  the  corners 
of  windows.  The  owl,  which  flies  abroad  only  in 
the  night,  seeks  out  deserted  habitations,  or  some 
hollow  tree,  wherein  to  deposit  her  eggs  j  and  the 
eagles,  who  soar  above  the  clouds  till  absolutely 
out  of  sight,  bring  forth  their  young  in  the  cliffs  of 
craggy  rocks.  Those  birds,  which  so  prettily  sport 
round  our  houses,  and  hop  from  branch  to  branch, 
make  their  nests  in  trees  and  hedges.  Those  who 
sport  on  the  water,  and  find  their  living  therein, 
build  their  nests  among  the  rushes  that  grow  on 
the  banks. 

«  We  will,  one  fine  day,  take  a  walk  into  the 
little  valley  that  terminates  our  large  meadow, 
ahd  you  will  there  see  a  number  of  these   pretty 


228  THE  LOOKING-GLASS, 

creatiires  busy  in  selecting  the  materials  ©f  whick 
they  compose  their  nests.  You  will  observe  one 
employed  in  carrying  oflf  a  wheaten  straw,  another 
with  wool  or  feathers  in  its  beak,  another  with  a 
'Iried  leaf,  and  perhaps  with  a  little  moss.  You 
may  frequently  notice  the  swallow,  on  the  borders 
of  a  limpid  stream,  moistening  in  the  water  a  little 
bit  of  earth  which  he  holds  in  his  beak  and  with 
this  he  builds  his  habitation  ;  and,  though  the  out- 
side of  its  nest  is  formed  of  hard  and  durable  ma- 
terials, the  inside  is  lined  with  the  softest  and 
warmest.  There  are  even  some  birds,  who  pull  ofif 
ilieir  own  feathers  to  make  up  a  comfortable  bed, 
wherein  to  secure  their  young  from  every  inclem- 
enty  of  the  elements. 

"  Their  nests  are  made  large  or  small,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  number  of  eggs  they  are  to  contain. 
Some  birds  hang  up  their  nests  by  a  kind  of  thread, 
which  they  have  the  skill  to  form  of  flax,  of  differ- 
ent sorts  of  weeds,  and  of  the  webs  of  spiders. 
Others  place  it  int  he  middle  of  a  soft  and  gluey 
substance,  to  which  they  carefully  stick  many  fea- 
thers. All  birds  seek  retired  and  solitary  places, 
and  use  every  endeavour  to  make  their  nests  strong 
and  solid,  to  secure  them  from  the  attacks  of  ene- 
mies of  various  species. 

<*  It  is  in  this  kind  of  habitation  they  lay  their 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS.  229^ 

eggs,  where  the  mother,  and  at  times  the  father, 
sits  upon  them,  puts  every  thing  within  them  into 
motion,  and  at  last  produces  little  creatures,  who 
break  through  their  shell,  and  come  forth. 

«  I  doubt  not  but  you  have  often  seen  a  fly  in- 
winter,  which  appeared  to  have  no  life  in  it ;  yet, 
upon  taking  it  into  your  hand,  the  warmth  pro» 
ceeding  from  it  has  brought  it  to  life.  It  is  nearly 
the  same  thing  with  birds,  the  perseverance  of 
whose  parents,  in  brooding  upon  their  eggs  con- 
verts them  into  living- creatures. 

«  While  the  mother  is  sitting,  the  cock  is  her 
constant  attendant,  and  amuses  her  with  his  mu- 
sic. When  the  young  birds  are  hatched,  the  old 
ones  endeavour,  to  release  them  from  the  confine- 
ment of  the  egg.  At  this  period,  their  diligence 
is  redoubled,  they  do  every  thing  to  nourish  and 
defend  them,  and  are  constantly  employed  in  that 
interesting  pursuit.  No  distance  deters  them  from 
seeking  their  food,  of  which  they  make  an  equal 
distribution,  every  one  receiving  in  his  turn  what 
they  have  been  enabled  to  procure.  So  long  as 
they  continue  young  and  helpless,  they  contrive 
to  procure  such  food  as  is  adapted  to  their  delica- 
cy ;  but  as  soon  as  they  are  grown  stronger  by>^ 
age,  they  provide  for  them  food  of  a  more  solid 
nature. 

U  2 


230  THELOOKINGm.La:^. 

The  pelican,  which  is  a  very  large  bird,  is 
obHged  to  go  to  a  great  distance  for  food  for  its 
young,  and  therefore  nature  has  provided  it  with 
a  sort  of  bag,  which  she  fills  with  such  food  as  she 
knows  is  most  agreeable  to  the  palate  of  her  young 
ones.  She  warms  what  she  procures,  and  by  such 
means  makes  it  fitter  for  their  tender  stomachs. 

<«  While  they  are  thus  acting  the  parental  part, 
they  seem  to  be  forgetful  of  themselves,  and  atten- 
tive only  to  their  little  family.  On  the  approach  of 
either  rain  or  tempests,  they  hasten  to  their  nests, 
and  cover  it  as  well  as  they  can  with  expanded 
wings,  thereby  keeping  out  the  wind  and  watet 
from  hurting  their  infant  brood.  All  their  nights 
are  employed  in  nourishing  and  keeping  them 
warm.  The  most  timorous  among  the  feathered 
race,  who  will  fly  away  on  the  least  noise  that  ap- 
proaches them,  and  tremble  at  the  most  trifling 
apprehensions  of  danger,  become  strangers  to  fear 
as  soon  as  they  have  a  young  family  to  take  care  of, 
and  are  inspired  with  courage  and  intrepidity.  We 
see  an  instance  of  this  in  the  common  hen,  who, 
though  in  general  a  coward,  no  sooner  becomes  a 
parent,  than  she  gives  proofs  of  courage,  and  boldly 
stands  forth  in  defence  of  her  young.  She  will  face 
the  largest  dog,  and  will  not  even  run  from  a  man, 
wlio  shall  attempt  to  rob  her  of  her  young. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  231 

'*In  nearly  a  similar  manner,  the  little  birds  en- 
deavour to  protect  their  infant  family.  When  an 
enemy  approaches,  they  will  flutter  round  the 
nest,  will  seem  to  call  out  for  assistance,  will  attack 
the  invader,  and  pursue  him.  The  mother  will 
frequently  prefer  confining  herself  with  them  to 
the  pleasure  of  rambling  through  the  woods,  and 
will  not  qtlit  her  little  progeny." 

Here  their  mamma  ended,  and  her  two  children 
promised  they  never  would  any  more  disturb  those 
pretty  feathered  animals.  They  promised  only  to 
look  at  their  nests,  without  being  so  cruel  as  to  do 
them  any  harm.  They  said  they  would  be  satisfi- 
ed with  gazing  on  them,  while  employed  in  the  de- 
lightful task  of  attending  on  their  young,  and  com- 
forting and  caressing  their  unprotected  offspring. 

*«  My  dear  children  said  their  mamma,  this  is 
the  conduct  you  ought  to  pursue.  Keep  your  re- 
solutions, and  I  shall  love  you  the  more  tenderly 
for  it.  Do  no  injury  to  any  creature,  for  he  who 
made  you,  made  them  also.  Take  no  delight  in 
giving  pain  to  the  most  inf^ignificant  part  of  the 
creation  j  but  endeavour,  on  all  occasions,  to  con- 
tribute to  their  happines^." 

Ill  customs  by  degrees  to  habits  rise,  ^^ 

111  habits  soon  become  exalted  vice  5  ^T^ 


232  TH£    LOOKING'GLASS. 

What  more  advance  can  mortals  make  in  sin 
So  near  perfection,  who  with  blood  begin  ? 

Let  plough  thy  steers  *,  that  when  they  lose  their 

breath, 
To  nature,  not  to  thee,  they  may  impute  their 

death. 
Let  goats  for  food  their  loaded  udders  lend, 
And  sheep  from  winter  cold  thy  sides  defend  ; 
But  neither  springs,  nets,  nor  snares  employ, 
And  be  no  more  ingenious  to  destroy. 
Free  as  in  air,  let  birds  on  earth  remain, 
Nor  let  insidious  glue  their  wings  constrain  ; 
Nor  opening  hounds  the  trembling  stag  affright. 
Nor  purple  feathers  intercept  his  flight  : 
Nor  hooks  conceal'd  in  baits  for  fish  prepare, 
Nor  lines  to  heav'em  twinkling  up  in  air. 

Take  not  away  the  life  you  cannot  give  ; 
For  all  things  have  an  equal  right  to  live. 
Kill  noxious  creatures,  where  'tis  sin  to  save  ; 
This  only  just  prerogative  we  have  : 
But  nourish  life  with  vegetable  food 
And  shun  the  sacrilegious  raste  ot  blood. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS, 


233 


IHE  COVETOUS  BOY. 


YOUNG  Samuel  was  the  only  son  of  a  capi- 
tal merchant,  and  was  tenderly  beloved  by  hisirfa- 
ther.  He  had  by  no  means  a  bad  heart,  his  coun- 
tenance was  pleasing,  and  his  friends  would  all  have 
been  very  fond  of  him,  had  he  not  shewn,  in  every 
part  of  his  conduct,  a  covetous  propensity  that 
eclipsed  all  his  accomplishments. 

His  covetous  disposition  made  him  wish  for  every 


2S4  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

thing  he  saw  others  possessed  of,  and  even  can-icd 
him  to  so  great  a  length,  that  he  would  not  share 
among  his  playmates  any  thing  he  had,  or  even  let 
them  see  it. 

It  was  with  little  Samuel  as  it  generally  is  with 
every  body  else,  that  he  lost  more  than  he  gained 
by  his  avarice.  If  any  body  gave  him  any  sweet- 
meats, he  would  get  into  some  private  corner  of 
the  house,  and  there  swallow  them,  for  fear  any  of 
his  acquaintances  should  want  part  of  them.  His 
father,  in  order  to  cure  him  of  this  greedy  disposi- 
tion, used,  while  he  was  feasting  in  private,  to  give 
a  double  portion  to  his  companions.  He  perceiv- 
ed this,  and  therefore  left  off  hidingjtumself ;  but 
he  no  sooner  fixed  his  eyes  on  any  nicety,  than  he 
appeared  ready  to  devour  it  at  once,  and  pursued 
the  hand  of  those  that  held  it,  as  a  vulture  does  its 
prey. 

From  what  has  been  already  said,  his  father  may 
be  supposed  to  be  much  hurt  at  his  conduct ;  and, 
in  order  to  save  himself  as  much  vexation  as  possi- 
ble, he  ceased  to  give  him  any  more  niceties,  or 
even  have  them  within  his  house,  so  that  they 
might  not,  at  any  rate,  be  within  the  reach  of  his 
voracious  son. 

If  Samuel  had  a  pleasing  toy  of  any  kind,  he 
trouid  never  shew  it,  but  concealed  himself  in  the 


p^ 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  235 

enjoyment  of  it,  without  ever  being  happy.  If  he 
had  any  sort  of  fruit,  he  would  not  «hare  it  with 
his  playmates,  but  devour  it  in  private,  even  re- 
fusing any  to  those  he  happened  to  love  most. 
Consequently,  none  of  his .  playmates  would  ever 
give  him  a  part  of  what  they  had,  and  seemed  al- 
ways desirous  of  shunning  his  company.  When 
he  chanced  to  be  engaged  in  a  quarrel  with  any 
one,  none  appeared  ready  to  take  his  part  not 
even  when  they  knew  him  in  the  right ;  and, 
when  he  was  in  the  wrong,  every  one  joined  against 
him.  ,^ 

It  oae  day  happened,  that  a  little  boy  observed 
him  with  an  ,^pple  in  his  hand,  and  gave  him  by 
surprise  a  knock  on  the  elbow,  which  made  him 
let  the  apple  fall.  However,  he  picked  it  up  hasti- 
ly, and  in  order  to  revenge  himself  on  the  boy, 
set  off  to  catch  him  j  but  in  running  fell  into  a  hog 
pond,  and  had  like  to  have  been  suffocated  in  the 
soil.  He  exerted  all  his  power  to  get  out,  but  to 
no  effect  5  he  endeavoured,  but  without  succeed- 
ing, to  prevail  on  his  playmates  to  take  hold  of  his 
hand  and  help  him  out. 

Instead  of  assisting  him,  they  laughed  at  his  dis- 
tress, and  joyously  danced  about  the  pond,  from 
which  he  could  not  relieve  himself.  They  a11  told 
him  to  ask  the  assistance  of  those,  to  whom  he  had 


236  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

done  the  least  kindness ;  but  among  all  his  play- 
mates, there  was  not  one,  whose  help  he  could  de- 
mand on  that  score.  At  last,  one  of  the  boys,  who 
took  pity  on  him,  came  forward,  and  gave  him  his 
hand,  when  he  safely  -got  out, 

Samuel  shook  off  the  mud  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  then,  to  shew  his  gratitude  to  the  little  boy 
who  had  assisted  him,  he  bit  ofF  about  a  quarter  of 
the  apple  which  had  caused  this  disaster,  and  which 
he  never  let  go,  and  desired  him  to  accept  of  it. 
But  the  boy,  disgusted  with  so  pitiful  a  gift,  took 
the  morsel,  and  then  flung  it  in  his  face ;  a%d  this 
served  as  a  signal  for  all  the  boys  to  sccfht  himr 
They  pursued  Samuel  quite  hcme^J^ooting  all  the 
way  he  went. 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  hoot- 
ed, and,  as  he  did  not  want  for  feeling,  it  threw 
him  into  a  depth  of  thought.  He  kept  out  of  his 
father's  presence,  and  confined  himself  to  his  room 
for  some  days.  There  he  reasoned  with  himself 
on  the  cause  that  could  produce  such  treatment 
from  his  playfellows.  **  For  what  reason,  said  he 
to  himself,  could  my  little  neighbour,  who  even 
lent  me  his  hand  to  get  out  of  the  pond,  throw  the 
apple  in  my  face,  and  set  the  boys  to  hoot  me  ? 
Why  has  he  so  many  good  friends,  while  I  have 
not  a  single  one  ?*' 


T«E  LOOKING-GLASS.'  237 

On  comparing  the  good  boy's  behaviour  with 
his  own,  he  soon  discovered  the  reason.  To  be- 
come sensible  of  our  errors  is  half  the  work  of 
reformation.  He  recollected,  that  he  had  observed 
his  friend  was  always  ready  to  help  every  one  ; 
that  whenever  he  had  any  fruit,  confectionary,  or 
thelike,  he  seemed  to  feel  more  pleasure  in  sharing 
it  with  his  companions,  than  in  eating  it  himself, 
and  had  no  kind  of  amusement  in  which  he  did  not 
wish  every  one  to  bear  a  part.  On  this  short  review 
of  circumstances  he  plainly  perceived,  wherein  lay 
the  difference  between  himself  and  this  little  good 
boy.  He  at  last  resolved  to  imitate  him,  and  the  next 
day,  filling  his  pocket  with  fruit,  he  ran  up  to 
every  boy  he  met,  and  gave  him  a  part  of  it,  but 
he  could  not,  on  a  sudden,  give  up  selfy  having  left 
a  little  in  his  pocket  to  eat  at  home  in  private. 

Though  it  is  evident,  that  he  had  not  yet  com- 
pletely conquered  his  avarice,  yet  he  was  not  a  little 
pleased  with  the  advances  he  had  made,  since  his 
companions  were  now,  on  their  part,  more  gene- 
rous to  him  ;  they  shewed  themselves  much  more 
satisfied  with  his  company,  and  admitted  him  a 
partner  in  all  their  little  pastimes ;  they  divided 
with  him  whatever  they  happened  to  have,  and  he 
always  went  home  pleased  and  satisfied. 
X 


238  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

feoon  after  he  made  a  still  greater  progress  in 
conquering  his  selfish  disposition-,  for  he  pulled  out 
of  his  pocket  every  thing  he  had,  and  divided  it 
into  as  many  shares  as  there  were  mouths  to  eat 
it,  without  reserving  any  more  than  an  equal  part 
for  himself.  Indeed,  it  was  the  general  opinion 
of  the  boys,  that  his  own  share  was  the  least. 
This  day  he  was  much  more  satisfied  than  before, 
and  went  home  gay  and  cheerful. 

By  pursuing  this  conduct,  he  soon  acquired  a 
generous  habit,  and  became  liberal  even  to  those 
who  had  nothing  to  give  him  in  return.  He  conse- 
quently acquired  the  love  and  esteem  of  his  com- 
panions, who  no  sooner  saw  him  than  they  ran  to 
meet  him  with  joyful  countenances,  and  made 
bis  pleasure  their  own.  Thus,  instead  of  being 
miserable  and  wretched  through  avarice,  he  be- 
came completely  happy  in  the  practice  of  gene- 
rosity. 

His  father  was  undoubtedly  highly  pleased  with 
this  change,  and  tenderly  embracing  him,  promis- 
ed to  refuse  him  nothing  in  future  that  might  add 
to  his  pleasure  and  delight.  Samuel  hereby  learn- 
ed in  what  true  happiness  consists. 

Happy  the  man,  and  happy  he  alone, 
He,  who  can  call  the  day  his  own  : 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS^  239 

He,  who  secure  within,  can  say, 
To  morrow  do  thy  worst,  for  I  have  liv'd  to  day ; 

Be  fair,  or  foul,  or  rain,  or  shine, 
The  joys  I  have  possess'd,  in  spite  of  fate  are  mine. 

Not  Heav'n  itself  upon  the  past  has  pow'r  \ 
But  what  has  been,  has  been,  and  I  have  had  my 
hour. 

Fortune,  that,  with  malicious  joy. 

Does  man  her  slave  oppress. 
Pro  id  of  her  office  to  destroy, 

Is  seldom  pleas'd  to  bless : 
Still'various  and  unconstant  still. 
But  with  an  inclination  to  be  ill. 

Promotes,  degrades,  delights  In  strife, 
And  makes  a  lottery  of  life. 
I  can  enjoy  her  while  she's  kind; 
But  when  she  dances  in  the  wind. 

And  shakes  her  wings  and  will  not  stay, 
I  pufF  the  fluttering  thing  away  : 
The  little  or  the  much  she  gave,  is  quietly  resigned  ^ 
Content  with  poverty,  my  soul  I  arm: 
And  virtue,  tho'  in  rags,  will  keep  me  warm. 

What  is't  to  me. 
Who  never  sail  in  her  unfaitiiful  sea. 
If  storms  arise,  and  clouds  grow  black  ^ 
If  the  mast  split,  and  threaten  wreck  ? 


240 


THE  LOOKlNG-GLASb. 


Then  let  the  greedy  merchant  fear 

For  his  ill-gotten  gain ; 
And  pray  to  Gods  that  will  not  hear, 
While  the  debating  winds  and  billows  bear, 
His  wealth  into  the  main. 
For  me,  secure,  from  fortune's  blow& 
Secure  of  what  I  cannot  lose, 
In  my  small  pinnace  I  can  sail, 
Contemning  all  the  blustering  roar  ; 
And  running  with  a  merry  gale, 
With  friendly  stars  my  safety  seek 
Within  some  little  winding  creek  j 
And  see  the  storm  ashore. 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS, 


241 


DISSIPATION,  THE  CERTAIN  ROAD  TO  E.UIN. 


A  YOUNG  man  whose  name  was  Humphries, 
was  a  dull  companion,  but  an  excellent  workman. 
Nothing  ran  in  his  head  so  much  as  the  wish  to 
berome  a  master,  but  he  had  not  money  to  gratify 
that  wish.  A  merchant,  however,  who  was  well 
acquainted  with  his  industry,  lent  him  an  hun- 
dred pounds  in  order  that  he  might  open  shop  in 
a  proper  style. 

'        X  2 


5J42  THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  ' 

It  will  from  hence  naturally  follow,  that  Hum- 
phries thought  himself  one  of  the  happiest  men  in 
the  world.  He  supposed  his  warehouse  already 
filled  with  goods,  he  reckoned  how  many  custom- 
ers would  croud  to  buy  them,  and  what  would  be 
his  profits  thereon. 

In  the  midst  of  these  extravagant  flights  of  fan- 
cy, he  perceived  an  alehouse.     "  Come  said  he, 
on  entering  it,  I  will  indulge  myself  with  spend- 
ing one  sixpence  of  this  money."     He  hesitated, 
however    some   few    moments,  about  calling    for 
punch,  which  was  his  favourite  liquor,  as  his  con- 
science loudly  told   him,  that  his  time  fof  enjoy- 
ment ought  to  be  at   some  distance,  and  not  till 
he  had  paid  his  friend  the  money  he  had  borrow- 
ed j  that  it  would  not  be  honest  in  him,  at  present, 
to  expend  a  farthing  of  that  money  but  in  absolute 
necessaries.     With  these  right  ideas  he  was  near- 
ly leaving  the  alehouse  *,  but  bethinking  himself, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  if  he   spent  a  sixpence  of 
nis  morey,  he  should  still  have  an  hundred  pounds 
all  but   that   sixpence,   that  such  a  sum  was  fully 
suiHcient  to  set  him   up  in  trade,   and  that  a  sin- 
gle   half    hour's    industry    would     amply   make 
aii>e»ias   for  such  a  trifling  pleasure  as  he   wished 
then  to  enjoy. 

Hq  called  for  his  punchj  and  the  first  glass  ban- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  24fS 

ished  all  his  former  qualms,  little  thinking  that 
such  conduct  would,  by  insensible  degrees,  open 
a  way  to  his  ruin.  The  next  day  he  recollected 
the  pleasures  of  the  former  glass,  and  found  it  ea- 
sy to  reconcile  his  conscience  to  the  spending  of 
another  sixpence.  He  knew  he  should  still  have 
an  hundred  pounds  left  all  but  one  shilling. 

The  love  of  Hquor  had  at  last  completely  con- 
quered him,  and  every  succeeding  day  he  constant- 
ly returned  to  his  favourite  alehouse,  and  gradu- 
ally increased  his  quantity,  till  he  spent  two  shil- 
lings and  sixpence  at  each  sitting.  Here  he 
seemed  to  make  a  stand,  and  every  time  he  went 
he  consoled  himself  by  saying,  that  he  was  spend- 
ing only  half  a  crown,  and  that  he  need  not 
fear  but  he  should  have  enough  to  carry  on  his 
trade. 

By  this  delusive  way  of  reasoning,  he  silenced 
the  prudent  whispers  of  conscience,  which  would 
sometimes,  in  spite  even  of  liquor,  break  in  upon 
him,  and  remind  him,  that  the  proper  use  of  mo- 
ney consisted  in  prudently  applying  every  part  of 
it  to  advantageous  purposes. 

Thus  you  see  how  the  human  mind  is  led  into 
destructive  extravagancies  by  insensible  degrees. 
Industry  had  no  longer  any  charms  to  allure  .rm, 
being  bhndly  persuaded,  that  the  money  he  had 


X44>  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

borrowed  would  prove  an  inexhaustible  resource 
for  all  his  extravagancies.  He  was  at  last  con- 
vinced, and  his  conviction  suddenly  fell  on  him 
like  a  clap  of  thunder,  that  he  could  not  recover 
the  effects  of  his  preceding  dissipation,  and  that 
his  generous  benefactor  would  have  little  inclina- 
tion to  lend  another  hundred  pounds  to  a  man  who 
had  so  shamefully  abused  his  kindness  in  the  first 
instance. 

Entirely  overcome  with  shame  and  confusion, 
his  recourse  to  hard  drinking,  merely  to  q\net  his 
conscience  and  reflections,  served  only  to  bring  on 
his  ruin  the  sooner.  At  last,  the  fatal  moment  ar- 
rived, when  quite  disgusted  at  the  thought  of  indus- 
try, and  becoming  an  object  of  horror  even  to  him- 
self, life  became  insupportable,  and  nothing  present- 
ed themselves  to  him  but  scenes  of  poverty,  deso- 
lation and  remorse. 

Overtaken  by  despair,  he  fled  from  his  country, 
and  joined  a  gang  of  smugglers,  whose  ravages 
were  dreaded  through  every  town  and  village  on 
the  coast.  Heaven,  however,  did  not  permit  these 
iniquities  to  have  a  long  reign  •,  for  a  disgraceful 
death  soon  put  a  period  to  the  existence  of  this 
unhappy  wretch. 

Alas  !  had  he  listened  to  the  first  dictates  of  rea- 
son and  been  wrought  upon  by  the  reproaches  of 


THE  LOOKING-CLASS, 


245 


his  conscience,  he  might  have  been  easy  and  hap- 
py in  his  situation,  and  have  comfortably  enjoyed 
the  repose  of  a  reputable  old  age,  instead  oi  com- 
ing to  that  deplorable  end,  which  is  the  certain  re- 
ward of  vice  and  folly. 

Unhappy  man,  whom  sorrow  thus,  and  rage  I 
So  different  ill  alternately  engage  ! 
Who  drinks,  alas  !  but  to  forget ;  nor  sees 
That  melancholy  sloth,  severe  disease, 
Mem'ry  confus'd,  and  interrupted  thought. 
Death's  harbingers,  lie  latent  in  the  draught ; 
*  And  in  the  flow'rs  chat  wreathe  the  sparkling  bowl, 
Fell  adders  hiss,  and  poisonous  serpents  roll. 


246 


THE  L00KING-GLAS9.' 


CALUMNY    AND    SCANDAL    GREAT    ENEMIES  TO 
SOCIETY, 


THOUGH  Maria  was  of  a  tolerable  good  tem- 
per, yet  she  had  contracted  a  most  mischievous 
yice,  that  was  calumny.  Whenever  she  fancied 
she  saw  any  thing  amiss  in  others,  though  they 
were  her  most  intimate  friends,  she  seemed  to  take 
pleasure  in  publishing  it  to  the  world. 

The  inexperience  of  her  age  frequently  led  her 


I 


THE  LOOKlNG-GI.ASSi  ^i1 

to  ascribe  indifferent  actions  to  improper  motives, 
and  a  single  word,  or  volatility  of  disposition,  was 
sufficient  to  raise  in  her  breast  the  worst  suspicions, 
with  which  as  soon  as  she  had  formed  them,  she 
would  run  into  company,  and  there  publish  them 
as  indubitable  facts. 

As  she  was  never  at  a  loss  for  embellishments 
from  her  own  fancy  in  order  to  make  her  tales  ap- 
pear the  more  plausible,  it  may  easily  be  suppos- 
ed what  mischief  such  a  conduct  was  capable  of 
producing.  In  a  little  time,  all  the  families  in 
her  neighbourhood  were  set  together  by  the  ears, 
and  the  seeds  of  discord  soon  after  sprung  up 
among  individuals  j  husbands  and  wives,  brothers 
and  sisters,  masters  and  servants  commenced  per- 
petual variance  between  each  other.  All  on  a  sud- 
den, mutual  confidence  seemed  to  be  lost  in  every 
place  where  Maria  visited. 

Matters  at  last  were  carried  so  far,  that  every 
one  shut  their  doors  against  her,  as  they  would 
have  done  against  any  one  tainted  with  the  plague ; 
but  neither  hatred  nor  humiliation  could  reform 
a  vice,  which  custom  and  prejudice  had  so  deep- 
ly rivited  in  her  heart.  This  glorious  work  of 
reformation  was  reserved  for  Angelica,  her  cou- 
sin, who  was  the  only  one  left  that  would  keep 


2<t8  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

her  company,  and  who  lived  in  hopes  that  she 
should  in  the  end  be  able  to  convince  her  ol  her 
ruinous  conduct. 

Maria  went  one  day  to  see  her  cousin,  and  en- 
tertained her  as  usual  with  a  long  recital  of  scandal 
against  their  common  friends,  though  she  well 
knew  that  such  tales  were  disagreeable  to  Angeli- 
ca. «« And  now,  my  dear,  said  Maria,  having  stop- 
ped for  want  of  breath,  your  turn  is  come  to  tell 
me  something.  You  see  such  a  variety  of  compa- 
ny, that  you  surely  must  be  acquainted  with  a 
number  of  anecdotes." 

«'  My  dear  Maria,  answered  Angelica,  whenever 
1  visit  my  friends,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  enjoying 
their  company  ;  and  I  am  too  sensible  of  my  own 
interest  to  forfeit  their  esteem  by  exposing  their 
defects.  Indeed,  I  am  sensible  of  so  many  errors 
in  myself,  and  find  it  so  difficult  to  correct  them, 
that  I  have  no  leisure  to  contemplate  the  imper- 
fections of  others.  Having  every  reason  to  wish 
for  their  candour  and  indulgence,  I  readily  grant 
them  mine  ;  and  my  attention  is  constantly  turned 
to  discover  what  is  commendable  in  them,  in  or- 
der that  I  may  make  such  perfections  my  own. 
Before  we  presume  to  censure  others,  we  ought  to 
be  certain  that  we  have  no  faults  ourselves.    I  can- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASSi  249 

not,  therefore,  but  congratulate  you  on  that  fault- 
•  less  state  which  I  am  so  unhappy  as  to  want.  Con- 
tinue my  dear  Maria,  this  employment  of  a  chari- 
table censor,  who  would  lead  the  world  to  virtue 
by  exposing  the  deformity  of  vice,  and  you  cannot 
fail  of  meeting  your  deserts." 

Maria  well  knew  how  much  she  was  the  public 
object  of  aversion  and  disgust,  and  therefore  could 
not  help  feeling  the  irony  of  Angelica.     From  that 
day,  she  began  very  seriously  to  reflect  on  the  dan- 
ger of  her  indiscretion,  and  trembling  at   the  re- 
collection of  those  mischiefs  she  had  caused,  deter- 
mined to  prevent  their  progress. 
^       She  found  it  difficult  to  throw  off  the  custom 
she  had  long  indulged  of  viewing    things  on  the 
^    worst  side  of  the  question.     At  last,  however,  she 
■    became  so  perfectly  reformed,  that  she  studied  on- 
H    ly  the  pleasing  parts  of  characters,  and  was  never 
^    heard  to  speak  ill  of  any  one. 

Maria  became  more  and  more  convinced  of  the 
pernicious  consequences  that  arise  from  exposing 
the  faults  of  others,  and  began  to  feel  the  pleasing 
satisfaction  of  universal  charity.  My  dear  chil- 
dren shun  the  voice  of  scandal,  and  still  more,  be- 
ing the  authors  of  it,  as  you  would  plague^  pesti- 
1       lence,  and  famine. 

Y 


250  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

What  is  that  vice  which  still  prevails, 
When  almost  ev'ry  passion  fails ; 
Which  with  our  very  dawn  begun, 
Nor  ends  but  with  our  setting  sun; 
Which,  like  a  noxious  weed,  can  spoil 
The  fairest  flow'rs  and  choke  the  soil  ? 
'Tis  Calumny — ^With  shame  I  own. 
The  vice  of  human  kind  alone. 

Th'  insidious  sland'ring  thief  is  worse 
Than  the  poor  rogue  who  steals  your  purse. 
Say,  he  purloins  your  glitt'ring  store  5 
Who  takes  youif  gold,  takes  trash — no  more ; 

Perhaps  he  pilfers — to  be  fed 

Ah,  guiltless  wretch  who  steals  for  bread ! 
But  the  dark  villain  who  shall  aim 
To  blast  thy  fair  thy  spotless  name, 
He'd  steal  a  precious  gem  away. 
Steals  what  both  Indies  can't  repay! 

Be  good  yourself,  nor  think  another's  shame 
Can  raise  you  merit  or  adorn  your  fame  j 
Virtue  is  amiable,  mild,  serene. 
Without,  all  beauty,  and  all  peace  within. 


THE  LOOKlNGrGLASS. 


251 


CLARISSA  J    OR  THE  GRATEFUL  ORPHAN. 


THE  amiable  Dorinda  soon  after  the  mislor- 
tune  of  losing  her  husband,  was  so  unhappy  as  to 
have  a  law-suit  determined  to  her  disadvantage,  and 
thereby  lost  great  part  of  her  possessions,  which 
Were  taken  from  her  with  the  most  unrelenting 
hand.  This  reduced  her  to  the  necessity  of  selling 
all;  her  furniture,  and  the  greater  part  of  her  jew» 
els.  The  produce  of  these  were  placed  in  the  hands 
©fa  banker,  and  she  retired  to  a  village,  where  she 


252  THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 

could  live  much  cheaper  than  in  the  metropohb, 
and  with  tolerable  decency. 

She  had  not  passed  more  than  two  months  in 
this  manner  when  information  was  brought  her, 
that  her  banker  had  failed  in  trade,  and  conse- 
quently all  her  money  was  lost.  Judge  what  must 
be  the  horrors  of  her  situation  ?  Sickness  and  grief 
had  so  debihtated  her  constitution,  that  she  was 
unable  to  do  any  kind  of  work,  whereby  to  procure 
a  subsistence  :  and  after  having  passed  her  youth 
in  ease  and  pleasure,  she  had  no  resources  left  in 
the  evening  of  her  life,  but  that  of  a  workhouse  or 
common  beggary. 

Not  one  of  her  acquaintance  would  see  her,  nor 
condescend  to  take  the  least  interest  in  her  suffer- 
ings. Being  brought  by  her  husband  from  a  fo- 
reign country,  she  had  no  friends  to  fly  to  for  as- 
sistance, except  a  distant  relation,  whom  she  had 
brought  with  her  to  England,  and  who,  by  her 
husband's  credit  gained  great  riches;  but  this  man's 
avarice  was  greater  than  his  wealth,  and  there  was 
little  charity  to  be  expected  from  a  man,  who  de- 
nied himself  the  common  necessaries  of  life. 

Afflicted  virtue,  however,  always  finds  resource 
in  the  bounteous  hands  of  Providence,  and  she 
found  the  means  of  subsistence  where  she  little  ex- 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  252^ 

pected  it;  In  the  former  days  of  her  prosperity, 
she  had  adopted  a  female  orphan,  whose  name  was 
Clarissa,  who  now  became  her  guardian  and  protec- 
tor Clarissa  had  a  grateful  heart ;  she  wept  for 
the  misfortunes  of  her  friend,  but  she  rejoiced  at 
the  thoughts  of  having  an  opportunity  to  shew  her 
gratitude. 

When  Dorinda  mentioned  her  design  of  seek- 
ing refuge  in  a  parish  workhouse,  "No,  (said  Cla- 
rissa) you  shall  never  leave  me.  From  your  ten- 
derness I  formerly  received  the  indulgences  of  a 
beloved  child;  and,  if  in  your  prosperity  I  thought 
myself  happy  in  the  idea  of  being  so  nearly  re- 
lated to  you,  by  adoption  ;  I  still  think  it  more  so 
now  I  see  you  in  adversity  Thank  heaven  and 
your  adoption  for  my  comfortable  situation  !  your 
maternal  conduct  was  amply  displayed  in  teaching 
me  all  the  necessary  female  arts  ;  and  I  am  happy 
in  the  reflection,  that  I  can  make  use  of  my  know- 
ledge for  your  sake.  With  health  and  courage, 
I  fear  not  being  able  to  procure  for  us  both  a  com- 
fortable living." 

This  generous  offer   exceedingly   affected  the 

unhappy  widow,  who  embraced  Clarissa,  and  with 

joy  accepted  of  her  proposal.     This  amiable  girl, 

in  her  turn,  became  the  mother,  by  adoption,  of 

Y  2 


254;  THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 

her  former  benefactress.  Not  contented  wich  feed 
ing  her  with  the  produce  of  an  unremitted  labour,, 
she  consoled  her  in  affliction,  attended  her  in  sick- 
ness, and  endeavoured,  by  the  tenderest  methods, 
to  soften  the  iron  hand  of  fortune. 

For  two  years  did  the  constancy  and  ardour  of 
Clarissa  continue  with  unwearied  attention-,  and 
her  only  happiness  seemed  to  consist  its  promoting 
that  of  her  friend.  At  the  end  of  that  period, 
when  death  relieved  the  unhappy  Dorinda  from  the 
cares  and  troubles  oi  this  life,  she  sincerely  la- 
mented her  death,  and  bewailed  it  as  a  grievous 
misfortune. 

A  short  time  after  died  also  the  relation  of  Do- 
rinda, of  whom  we  have  lately  spoken,  and  who 
had  shewn  himself  so  shamefully  insensible  to  every 
claim  of  gratitude  and  kindred.  As  he  could  not 
carry  his  riches  with  him,  he  supposed  it  would 
be  making  some  atonement  for  his  ungenerous 
conduct,  by  leaving  the  injured  Dorinda  every 
thing  he  possessed.  Alas!  it  came  too  late,  for 
sl:e  was  no  more  ! 

The  amiable  Dorinda  had  not,  before  her  death, 
the  consolation  of  knowing  that  such  a  change 
l>ad  happened  in  her  fortune,  as  in  that  case  she 
might  easily  have  turned  it  to  the  advantage  of  the 
generous  Clarissa.     This  large  fortune^  therefore^ 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  255 

for  want  of  an  heir,  fell  to  the  king ;  but  Provi- 
dence so  directed  it,  that  the  generous  conduct  of 
the  orphan  to  her  benefactress  reached  the  ears 
of  the  prince.  '«  Ah!  then  (said  he)  she  merits 
this  inheritance !  I  renounce  my  right  in  her  fa- 
vour, and  shall  be  happy  in  being  her  father  and 
friend." 

This  generous  act  of  the  king  was  applauded 
by  the  whole  nation  !  and  Clarissa,  having  thus  re- 
ceived so  glorious  a  reward  for  her  gratitude,  em- 
ployed it  in  the  maintenance  of  orphans,  such  as 
she  herself  had  been.  It  was  the  summit  of  her 
delight,  to  inspire  them  with  sentiments  similar  to 
those  she  herself  possessed.  ^ 

I  read  God*s  awful  name  emblazon'd  high 
With  golden  letters  on  th'  illumin'd  sky  ; 
Nor  less  the  mystic  characters  I  see 
Wrought  in  each  flow'r,  inscribed  on  every  tree ; 
In  evVy  leaf  that  trembles  to  the  breeze, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  God  among  the  trees. 
With  thee  in  shady  solitudes  I  walk, 
With  thee  in  busy  crowded  cities  talk  ; 
In  every  creature  own  thy  forming  pow'r. 
In  each  event  thy  providence  adore. 

Thy  hopes  shall  animate  my  drooping  soul. 
Thy  precepts  guide  me,  and  thy  fear  control'. 


256 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


Thus  shall  I  rest  unmoved  by  all  alarms, 
Secure  within  the  temple  of  thine  arms, 
From  anxious  cares,  from  gloomy  terrors  free^ 
And  feel  myself  omnipotent  in  thee. 

Then  when  the  last,  the  closing  hour  draws  nigh, 
And  earth  recedes  before  my  swimming  eye  ; 
When  trembling  on  the  doubtful  edge  of  fate 
I  stand,  and  stretch  my  view  to  either  state  j 
Teach  me  to  quit  this  transitory  scene 
With  decent  triumph  and  a  look  serene  ; 
Teach  me  to  fix  my  ardent  hopes  on   high, 
And,  having  liv'd  to  thee,  in  thee  to  die. 


-^I#«^ 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


2^7 


RETURNING  GOOD  FOR  EVIL,  THE  NOBLEST 
REVENGE. 


I  WILL  be  revenged  of  him,  that  I  will,  and 
make  him  heartily  repent  it,'*  said  little  Philip  to 
himself,  with  a  countenance  quite  red  with  anger. 
His  mind  was  so  engaged,  that  as  he  walked  along, 
he  did  not  see  his  dear  friend,  Stephen,  who  hap- 
pened as  that  instant  to  meet  him,  and  consequent- 
ly heard  what  he  had  said. 

«'  Who  is  that,  (said  Stephen)  that  you  intend  to 


258  THE  LOOlftNG-GLASS; 

be  revenged  on  ?"  Philip  as  though  awaked  from 
a  dream,  stopped  short,  and  looking  at  his  friend, 
soon  resumed  the  smile  that  was  natural  to  his 
countenance.  Ah!  (said  he)  come -with  me,  my 
friend,  and  you  shall  see  whom  I  will  be  revenged 
on.  I  believe  you  remember  my  supple  jack,  a 
very  pretty  little  cane,  which  my  father  gave  me. 
You  see  it  is  now  all  in  pieces.  It  was  farmer  Ro- 
binson's son,  who  lives  in  yonder  thatched  cottage, 
that  reduced  it  to  this  worthless  state. 

Stephen  very  f  oolly  asked  him  what  induced 
the  farmer's  son  to  break  it  *<  I  was  walking  very 
peaceably  along,  (replied  Philip)  and  was  playing 
#ith  my  cane  by  twi«<ting  it  round  my  body.  By 
some  accident  or  other  one  of  the  two.  ends  got  out 
of  my  hand  when  I  was  opposite  the  gate,  just  by 
the  wooden  bridge,  and  where  the  little  miscreant 
had  put  down  a  pitcher  full  of  water,  which  he 
was  carrying  home  from  the  well.  It  so  happen- 
ed, that  my  cane,  in  springing,  overset  the  pitcher, 
but  did  not  break  it.  He  came  up  close  to  me,  and 
began  to  call  me  names,  when  I  assured  h^m  I  did 
not  intend  any  harm,  what  I  had  done  was  by  acci- 
dent, and  I  was  very  sorry  for  it  Without  paying 
aay  regard  to  what  I  said  he  instantly  seized  my 
supple  jack,  and  twisted  it  as  vou  here  see  ^  but  I 
will  make  him  heartily  repent  it,*' 


tHE  LOOKING-GTLASS*  25^ 

<*  To  be  sure,  (said  Stephen)  he  Is  a  very  wicked 
boy,  and  is  already  very  properly  punished  for  it» 
since  nobody  likes  him,  nor  will  do  any  thing  for 
him.  He  finds  it  very  difficult  to  get  any  com- 
panion to  play  with  him,  and  if  he  attempts  to  in- 
trude himself  into  their  company,  they  will  all  in- 
stantly leave  him.  To  consider  this  properly,  I 
think,  should  be  sufficient  revenge  to  you." 

«  All  this  is  true,  (replied  Philip)  but  he  has 
broken  my  cane.  It  was  a  present  from  my  papa, 
and  a  very  pretty  cane  you  know  it  was.  My  fa- 
jther  will  perhaps  ask  me  what  is  become  of  it ;  and 
as  he  will  suppose  I  have  carelessly  lost  his  present, 
he  will  probably  be  angry  with  me,  of  which  this 
little  saucy  fellow  will  be  the  cause.  I  offered  to 
fill  his  pitcher  again,  having  knocked  it  down  by 
accident — I  will  be  revenged," 

«  My  dear  friend  (said  Stephen)  I  think  you  will 
act  better  in  not  minding  him,  as  your  contempt 
will  be  the  best  punishment  you  can  inflict  on  him. 
He  is  not  upon  a  level  with  you,  and  you  may  be 
assured  that  he  will  always  be  able  to  do  more  mis- 
chief to  you  than  you  would  choose  to  do  him. 
And  now  I  think  of  it,  I  will  tell  you  what  hap- 
pened to  him,  not  long  since. 

«  Very  unluckily  for  him,  he  chanced  to  see  a 
bee  hoveripg  about  a  flower,  ^hich  he  caught ; 


260  THE  LOOKING-GLASS 

and  was  going  to  pull  off  its  wings  out  of  sport, 
when  the  animal  found  means  to  sting  him,  and 
then  flew  away  in  safety  to  the  hive.  The  pain  put 
him  in  a  most  furious  passion,  and,  like  you,  he 
vowed  to  take  a  severe  revenge.  He  accordingly 
procured  a  little  hazel  stick,  and  thrust  it  through 
the  hole  into  the  bee-hive,  twisting  it  about  there- 
in. By  these  means,  he  killed  several  of  the  little 
animals;  but  in  an  instant,  all  the  swarm  issued  out, 
and  falling  upon  him,  stung  him  in  a  thousand  dif- 
ferent places.  You  will  naturally  suppose  that  he 
littered  the  most  piercing  cries  and  rolled  upon 
the  ground  in  the  excess  of  his  agony.  His  fa- 
ther ran  to  him  but  could  not  without  the  great- 
est difficulty,  put  the  bees  to  flight  after  having 
stung  him  so  severely,  that  he  was  confined  several 
days  to  his  bed. 

«  Thus  you  see,  he  was  not  very  successful  in 
his  pursuit  of  revenge.  I  would  advise  you,  there- 
fore to  pass  over  his  insult,  and  leave  others  to 
punish  him  without  your  taking  any  part  in  it. 
Besides,  he  is  a  wicked  boy,  and  much  stronger 
than  you  are  *,  so  that  your  ability  to  obtain  re- 
venge may  be  doubtful."  '<  I  must  own,  replied 
Philip,  that  your  advice  seems  very  good.  So  come 
along  with  me,  and  I  will  go  and  tell  my  father 
the  whole  matter  and  I  think  he  will  not  be  angry 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS*  261 

jfflth  me.  It  is  not  the  cane  that  I  value  on  any- 
other  consideration  than  that  it  was  my  father's 
present,  and  I  would  wish  to  convince  him  that  I 
take  care  of  every  thing  he  gives  me."  He  and  his 
friend  then  went  together,  and  PhiHp  told  his  fa- 
ther what  had  happened,  who  thanked  Stephen 
for  the  good  advice  he  had  given  his  son,  and  gave 
Philip  another  cane  exactly  like  the  first. 

A  few  days  afterwards  Philip  saw  this  ill-na- 
tured boy  fall  as  he  was  carrying  home  a  very 
heavy  log  of  wood,  which  he  could  not  get  up 
again.  Philip  ran  to  him,  and  replaced  it  on  his 
shoulder. 

Young  Robinsoiv  was  quite  ashamed  at  the 
thought  of  having  received  this  kind  assistance 
from  a  youth  he  had  treated  so  badly,  and  heart- 
ily repented  of  his  behaviour.  Philip  went  home 
quite  satisfied,  to  think  he  had  assisted  one  he  did 
not  love,  and  from  pure  motives  of  tenderness 
and  humanity.  "  This,  said  he  is  the  noblest 
vengeance  I  could  take,  in  returning  good  for 
evii." 

The  man,  whose  mind,  on  virtue  bentjr 
Pursues  some  greatly  good  intent. 
With  undivided  aim. 
Serene  beholds  the  angry  crowd; 
Z 


262 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 


Nor  can  their  clamours,  fierce  and  loud, 

His  stubborn  honours  tame. 
Not  the  proud  tyrant's  fiercest  threat 
Nor  storms,  that  from  their  dark  retreat 

The  lawless  surges  wake. 
Not  Jove*s  dread  bolt  that  shakes  the  pole, 
The  firmer  purpose  of  his  soul 

With  all  its  power  can  shake. 
Should  nature's  frame  in  ruins  fall, 
And  chaos  o'er  the  sinking  ball 

Resume  primaeval  sway, 
His  courage  chance  and  fate  defies, 
Nor  feels  the  wreck  of  earth  and  skies 

Obstruct  its  destined  way. 


THE   LOOKING-GLASS. 


2^S 


f^^^^^^^:^S^tl 


GREY   HAIRS  MADE  HAPPY. 


M^ 


OPPOSITE  to  the  house  in  which  Charlotte's 
parents  lived,  was  a  little  opening,  ornamented 
with  a  grass  plot,  and  overshaded  by  a  venerable 
tree,  commanding  an  extensive  view  before  it. 
On  this  delightful  spot,  Charlotte  used  frequently 
to  sit  in  her  little  chair,  while  employed  ip.  knit- 
ting stockings  for  her  mamma. 


264  THE  L0(3KIN0-GLASS. 

As  she  was  one  day  thus  employed,  she  saw 
a  poor  old  nian  advancing  very  slowly  towards 
her.  His  hair  was  as  white  as  silver,  and  his 
back  bent  with  age  ;  he  supported  himself  by  ia 
stick,  and  seemed  to  walk  with  great  difficulty. 
<*  Poor  man,  said  Charlotte,  looking  at  him  most 
tenderly,  he  seems  to  be  very  much  in  pain, 
and  perhaps  is  very  poor,  which  are  two  dreadful 
evils  !" 

She  also  saw  a  number  of  boys  who  were  fol- 
lowing close  behind  this  poor  old  man.  They 
passed  jokes  upon  his  threadbare  coat,  which  had 
very  long  skirts  and  short  sleeves,  contrary  to  the 
fashion  of  those  days.  His  hat,  which  was  quite 
rusty,  did  not  escape  their  notice  ;  his  cheeks  were 
hollow  and  his  body  thin.  These  wicked  boys  no 
sooner  saw  him,  than  they  all  burst  out  a  laugh- 
mg.  A  stone  lay  in  his  way>  which  he  did  not 
perceive,  and  over  it  he  stumbled,  and  had  like 
to  have  fallen.  This  afforded  them  sport,  and  they 
laughed  loudly  ;  but  it  gave  great  pain  to  the  old 
man,  who  uttered  a  deep  sigh. 

<*  I  once  was  as  young  as  you  are,  said  he  to  the 
boys,  but  did  not  laugh  at  the  infirmities  of  age  as 
you  do.  The  day  will  come  in  which  you  will  be 
old  yourselves,  and  every  day  is  bringing  you  for- 


^^■i^ 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  265 

ward  to  that  period.  You  will  then  be  sensible  oi 
the  impropriety  of  your  present  conduct."  Having 
thus  spoken,  he  endeavoured  to  hobble  on  again, 
and  made  a  second  stumble,  when,  in  struggling 
to  save  himself  from  falling,  he  dropped  his  cane, 
and  down  he  fell.  On  this  the  wicked  boys  renew- 
ed their  laugh,  and  highly  enjoyed  his  misfortune. 

Charlotte,  who  had  seen  every  thing  that  had 
passed,  could  not  help  pitying  the  old  man's  situa- 
tion, and  therefore  putting  down  her  stocking  on 
the  chair,  ran  towards  him,  picked  up  the  cane  and 
gave  it  him,  and  then  taking  hold  of  his  other  arm, 
as  if  she  had  been  as  strong  as  a  woman,  advised 
him  to  lean  upon  her,  and  not  mind  any  thing^the 
boys  might  say  to  him. 

The  poor  old  man  looking  at  her  very  earnest- 
ly, «  Sweet  child,  said  he,  how  good  you  are !  This 
kindness  makes  me  in  a  moment  forget  all  the  ill 
behaviour  of  those  naughty  boys.  May  you  ever 
be  happy."  They  then  walked  on  together  j  but  the 
boys  being  probably  made  ashamed  of  their  con- 
duct by  the  behaviour  of  Charlotte,  followed  the 
old  man  no  further. 

While  the  boys  were  turning  about,  one  of  them 
fell  down  also,  and  all  the  rest  began  laughing  as 
they  had  before  done  at  the  old  man.     He  was  ve- 
ry angry  with  them  on  that  accoant^  and  as  soon: 
Z  2 


.^ 


26G  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

as  he  got  up  ran  after  his  companions,  pelting  them 
with  stones.  He  instantly  became  convinced,  how 
unjust  it  was  to  laugh  at  the  distresses  of  another, 
and  formed  a  resolution  for  the  future,  never  to 
laugh  at  any  person's  pain.  He  followed  the  old 
man  he  had  bc^en  laughing  at,  though  at  some  dis- 
tance, wishing  for  an  opportunity  to  do  him  some 
favour,  by  way  of  atonement,  for  what  he  had  done. 

The  good  old  man,  in  the  mean  time,  by  the 
kind  assistance  of  Charlotte,  proceeded  with  slow 
but  sure  steps.  She  asked  him  to  stop  and  rest  him- 
self a  little,  and  told  him,  that  her  house  was  that 
before  him.  "  Pray  stay,  said  she,  and  sit  a  little 
under  that  large  tree.  My  parents,  indeed,  are  not 
at  home,  and  therefore  you  will  not  be  quite  so 
well  treated  -,  yet  it  will  be  a  little  rest  to  you," 

The  old  man,  accepted  Charlotte's  offer.  She 
brought  him  out  a  chair,  and  then  fetched  some 
bread  and  cheese  and  good  small  beer,  which  was 
all  the  pretty  maid  could  get  at.  He  thanked  her 
very  kindly,  and  then  entered  into  conversation 
with  her.  "  I  find,  my  dear,  said  he,  you  have  pa- 
rents. 1  doubt  not  but  you  love  them,  and  they 
love  you.  They  must  be  very  happy,  and  may 
they  always  continue  to  be  so  !'* 

<«  And  pray,   goof^  old  man,  said  Charlotte,  I 
doubt  not  but  you  have  childrefti"-*-«  I  had  a  sda 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  26% 

replied  he  who  lived  in  Boston,  loved  me  tenderly, 
and  frequently  came  to  see  me*,  but  alas !  he  is  now 
dead,  and  I  am  left  disconsolate.  His  widow  indeed, 
is  rich ;  but  she  assumes  the  character  of  the  lady 
and  thinks  it  beneath  her  to  enquire  whether  I  be 
dead  or  living,  as  she  does  not  wish  it  to  be  known^ 
that  her  husband's  father  is  a  peasant." 

Charlotte  was  much  affected,  and  could  hardly 
believe  that  such  cruel  people  existed.  <^  Ah  !  cer- 
tain I  am,  said  she,  that  my  dear  mother  would  not 
behave  so  cruel/'  He  then  rose  and  thanked  Char- 
lotte with  a  blessing ;  but  she  was  determined  not  to 
leave  him,  till  she  had  accompanied  him  a  little 
way  further. 

As  they  walked  on,  they  saw  the  little  boy  who 
had  been  following  them  ;  for  he  ran  on  some  way 
before,  and  was  then  sitting  on  the  grass.  When 
ihey  looked  upon  him  he  cast  his  eyes  downwards, 
got  up  after  they  had  passed,  and  followed  them 
again  Charlotte  observed  him,  but  said  nothing. 
She  asked  the  old  man  if  he  lived  alone.  "  No, 
little  lady  answered  he,  I  have  a  cottage  on  the 
other  side  of  that  meadow,  seated  in  the  middle  of 
a  little  garden,  with  an  orchard  and  a  small  field. 
An  old  neighbour  whose  cottage  fell  down  through 
age,  lives  with  me  and  cultivates  my  ground  He 
is  an  honest  man,  and  I  am  perfectly  easy  in  his  so- 


'268  THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

ciety  ;  but  the  loss  of  my  son  still  bears  hard  upon 
me,  nor  have  I  the  happiness  to  see  any  of  his  chil- 
dren, who  must  by  this  time  have  forgotten  me.'* 

These  complaints  touched  the  heart  of  Charlotte, 
who  told  him,  that  she  and  her  mother  would  come 
and  see  him.  The  sensibility  and  kindness  of  this 
little  girl  served  only  to  aggravate  his  grief,  by 
bringing  to  his  mind  the  loss  he  had  sustained  in 
his  son.  Tears  came  in  his  eyes  when  he  pulled 
out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  them  ;  and,  instead 
of  again  putting  it  into  his  pocket,  in  the  agitation 
of  his  mind,  it  slipped  aside,  and  fell  unnoticed  by 
him  or  Charlotte. 

The  httle  boy  who  followed  them,  saw  the 
handkerchief  fall,  ran  to  pick  it  up  and  gave  it  the 
old  man,  saying  <"'Here  good  old  man,  you  dropped 
your  handkerchief,  and  here  it  is." — <»  Thank  you 
heartily,  my  little  friend  said  the  old  man.  Here 
is  a  good  natured  lad,  who  does  not  ridicule  old 
age  nor  laugh  at  the  afflictions  that  attend  it."  You 
wHl  certainly  become  an  honest  man.  Come  both 
of  you  to  my  habitation,  and  I  will  give  you  some 
milk."  They  had  no  sooner  reached  the  old  man's 
cottage  than  he  brought  out  some  milk,  and  the 
best  bread  he  had,  which  though  coarse,  was  good. 
They  all  sat  down  upon  the  grass,  and  made  a  com- 
fortable repast.     However,  Charlotte  began  to  be 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  269 

afraid  her  parents  rnight  come  home,  and  be  unea* 
sy  at  her  absence  -,  and  the  little  boy  wa<^  sorry  to 
go,  but  was  sadly  afraid,  should  he  stay,  oi  being 
scolded  by  his  mother. 

<*  This  mother  of  your's  said  the  old  man,  must 
be  very  cross  to  scold  you" — "  She  is  not  always 
so,  replied  the  boy,  but  though  she  Ipves  rne,  she 
makes  me  fear  her." — "  And  your  father  ?  «  Oh, 
I  scarcely  knew  him,  he  having  been  dead  these 
four  years." — <*  Dead  these  four  years!  interrupted 
the  old  man,  and  lix^ing  his  eyes  attentively  on  the 
boy.     Is    it  possible  that  I  have  some  recolUction 

of  your  features?  Can  it  \  be  little  X'*"'^^^^  """^ 
"  Yes,  yes,  Francis  is  my  name." 

For  a  few  moments  the  old  man  stood  motion- 
less, and  with  an  altered  voice,  his  eyes  swimming 
with  tears,  cried  out,  "  my  dear  Francis,  you  do 
not  recollect  your  grandfather  !  Embrace  me  !  You 
have  got  the  very  features  of  my  son  !  My  dearest 
child,  you  was  not  thinking  of  me  !  My  son  affec- 
tionately loved  me,  and  his  son  will  love  me  also. 
My  old  age  will  not  be  so  miserable  as  I  expected, 
and  the  evening  of  my  life  will  not  pass  away  with- 
out some  joy.     I  shall  depart  in  peace  ! -But 

I  forget,  that  by  detaining  you,  I  may  expose  you 
to  your  mother's  anger.  Go,  my  dear  child,  for 
I  do  not  wish  that  my  joy  should  cost  you  tears. 


^70  THE    LOOKING-GLASS. 

Go,  love  your  mother,  and  obey  her  commands, 
fven  though  you  should  not  come  and  see  me. 
Come  and  see  me  if  you  can,  but  do  not  disobey  or 
tell  a  story  on  any  account. 

He  then  turned  to  Charlotte,  and  said,  though  he 
then  did  not  wish  her  to  stay,  for  fear  of  offending 
her  parents,  yet  he  hoped  she  would  come  again. 
He  then  dismissed  them  giving  them  a  hearty  bless- 
ing, and  the  two  children  walked  away  hand  in 
hand.  Charlotte  got  home  safe  before  her  parents, 
who  were  not  long  after  her,  when  she  told  them 
every  thing  that  had  passed,  which  furnished  an 
agreeable  conversation  for  the  evening. 

1  The  next  day,  they  all  went  to  see  the  good  old 
man,  and  afterwards  frequently  repeated  their  vi- 
sits.   Francis  also  came  to  see  his  grandfattier,  who 

**  was  rejoiced  to  hear  him  speak  and  to  receive  his 
affectionate  caresses.  Francis  on  his  side  was 
equally  rejoiced,  excepting  when  he  did  not  meet 
with  Charlotte  -,  for  then  he  went  home  sorrowful 
and  sad. 

The  nearer  Francis  arrived  to  manhood,  the 
more  his  affections  for  Charlotte  increased  5  and 
accordingly,  when  he  was  old  enough  to  marry,  he 
would  think  of  no  other  woman,  though  she  was 
not  rich.    The  old  man  lived  to  see  them  marri- 


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